Cue the Sun
by Slivovitz
Summary: "There's nothing wrong with being alone, Granger." There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. Draco meets Hermione one afternoon at Flourish and Blotts two years after the Final Battle. POST DH, ewe: DMHG
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is…the beginning of what I hope to be an interesting fic for you all. Unlike my other stories in the past, I actually do harbor an intense interest in this one, and I've been working on it sporadically for the past three years, so I sincerely doubt I'll give up on it as I tend to do with my others. I hope you enjoy!

On another note, I've also revised the sequel to King Me, entitled _Checkmate_; feel free to skim through if you get a chance, it's a tad more believable now. Once again, thanks to all for your support, it all means so much to me!

* * *

**Cue the Sun**

"_Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."_

_- Dag Hammarskjold, Swedish diplomat_

* * *

Hermione Granger lazily pointed her wand at a melted candle and lit it even though it was bright outside. It was the last day of Hogwarts for Hermione Granger. She was sure she'd failed nearly all of her exams, and she was still full from the feast last night. Now, she was sitting at the edge of the lake with Harry and Ron, reminiscing about the past seven years before it was time to get on the train and leave the castle behind forever. The candles were left over from the feast the night before, and Ron and Harry had snatched some of the ones that had melted into funny shapes.

Harry chucked a rock into the lake, and Ron grinned approvingly as it skipped several times before plunking into the black water.

"Oi, this one looked like a rabbit missing one ear," chortled Ron, tossing a melted candle into the air and catching it, waving it under Harry's nose.

"Hey, it does," agreed Harry, intercepting the candle the next time Ron threw it into the air.

Hermione smiled at the two boys, watching silently. She'd miss moments like this. It was hard to believe that they were all going their separate ways.

"I hope you're a better Chaser than a Keeper," joked Harry, referring to Ron's new occupation. Ron scowled good-naturedly and shrugged. "Good luck keeping those Cannons in check."

"I'll try my best," was Ron's answer.

"You could have gone anywhere, mate," pointed out Harry. "Even Wood's team, Puddlemere United, would have taken you, and they're fantastic. Fourth in the league last year."

Ron laughed and shook his head. "Old loyalties. Give me five years, and people will be dying to join the Chudley Cannons."

Harry rolled his eyes and was about to bet on it when he saw Hermione staring blankly into the distance. "Hermione, is something wrong?"

She snapped out of her reverie and giggled nervously. "Don't be silly, Harry, I'm fine. It's just strange, school being over and all."

"Did the Ministry owl about your application yet?" asked Ron. Hermione had sent in an application last week inquiring about a position in Law Enforcement.

"Uh-huh. I got the job."

"Hermione, that's brilliant," grinned Harry.

Hermione smiled back brightly and looked away. Her eyes fell on a blond a good distance away, sitting under the shade of a mulberry tree and scribbling furiously. She frowned as she realized the boy was Draco Malfoy, and figured that he was writing a last-minute Ministry application, no doubt for a high-end position reserved only for Malfoys. She wrinkled her nose slightly and turned once more to her best friends, shooting them a smile that they quickly returned.

Things were perfect, right here. The only thing she lamented at this particular point in time was that they would all be splitting up soon, and that she might very possibly become Draco Malfoy's colleague.

* * *

She was wrong, as he was actually filling out an application for Flourish and Blotts. Draco Malfoy brought the end of his quill to his mouth and thought, then glanced down again at what he'd written.

_Name, Draco Abraxas Malfoy._ He tapped the quill against his temple nervously. Normally, the very name would have made him a shoo-in for any occupation, but now things were different. He highly considered omitting his surname, but decided against it. If he couldn't get a job at Flourish and Blotts, Draco figured he didn't deserve to work anywhere.

He continued scanning his application, checking it for correctness and neatness. His date of birth (June 5, 1981) was precisely inked along with his education (second in his class at Hogwarts, naturally, and he was quite bitter of the fact) and previous working experience (none). There was a blank box labeled "Special Skills," and Draco smirked as he facetiously listed '_can read_.' He knew the people who worked at Flourish and Blotts were beneath him; he'd seen their employees, and from the looks of it, the ability to read was lacking in quite a few of them.

Below the box were a series of questions followed by blank lines. Draco read the first one to himself: "Why are you interested in a job here?" Draco was about to write, "_My father is insane,_" but quickly decided that might not be the best plan of action. He elected to leave that question blank for now. The next question asked him to list his greatest flaws… He decided to leave that question blank as well and looked at the next question.

"Why should Flourish and Blotts hire you?" Draco raised his eyebrows and scribbled, "_Please see 'name'."_

Satisfied with his answer, he looked at the very last section; it consisted of seven boxes, one for each day of the week. The directions told him to mark which days he was free to work, and during which hours. Without hesitation, Draco brought his quill down to the parchment and wrote in giant letters across the boxes, "_ALL_."

It was the last day of Hogwarts for Draco Malfoy as well, naturally. He scowled at the people around him. He'd just dumped Pansy today and felt wonderfully liberated to be free of her, yet his newfound independence and happiness didn't counteract the fact that he was still sitting by himself underneath a tree filling out an application for Flourish and Blotts. He scanned the landscape in front of him; the grass was green and flawlessly manicured. Had Draco not been there, he never would have surmised that only a few months ago, there had been a war here.

But that wasn't his business, anyway.

No, he had nothing to do with any of that. He was merely a (future) Flourish and Blotts employee, and though his father was on house arrest awaiting his trial, he was certainly not affiliated with him.

No, this was a new Draco Malfoy…he was turning over a new leaf. Since the death of Crabbe, he'd felt…well, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, couldn't quite explain the feeling. But he knew that Crabbe had something to do with it.

It didn't really explain why he was applying for the job, though. He just…he just needed to be out of the house. Draco knew he wasn't alone in this. After all, in the few weeks during which Draco had remained at home after the war while Hogwarts was being restored, how many arguments had he eavesdropped on between his mother and father? Something just wasn't the same, wasn't quite as correct as it once had been—Narcissa, Draco knew, felt the same way Draco was feeling. He didn't know the exact emotion, but he knew it had something to do with misplaced confusion. Narcissa kept arguing with Lucius over his refusal to hire a Muggleborn as their lawyer: to him, it didn't matter if he was among the most accomplished lawyers of the decade, Lucius simply would not have it.

Things like that, though, told Draco that things were going to fall apart pretty soon, for both himself and for his parents.

Trying to push the thought from his mind, Draco bent his head down once more and continued to fill out the application.

* * *

Meanwhile, off in the distance, Pansy Parkinson was close to tears and surrounded by her girlfriends. Her posse included Millicent Bulstrode, bull-like but with commerical-worthy hair; Daphne Greengrass, charismatic and prejudice-free, or so she boasted; and Mandy Perkins, a sixth-year.

"I hate my life," declared Pansy dramatically.

"Did he tell you why?" cooed Daphne Greengrass sympathetically.

"No," whimpered Pansy, her voice trembling. "He—he just said he never wanted to see me again. And I thought h-he was going to p-propose…"

Millicent frowned and shook her head. "According to Witch Weekly's warning signs, he _was _going to propose. I just don't get it."

"It'll be okay," smiled Daphne, stroking Pansy's hair. "There are other mermen in the sea."

"That's easy for you to say, Mrs. Weasley," snapped Pansy irritably, then forced a smile. "I'm sorry. How are things with the old dragon-taming blood traitor?"

Daphne rolled her eyes; she was used to Pansy's invidious comments about her fiancé, Charlie Weasley. "He's fine," she answered. "He just got me these gorgeous earrings that he made from dragon claws himself…"

"I'm so _glad_ you dumped Theodore finally," sighed Mandy happily. "That rat is not worth the dirt under my shoes." Millicent eagerly nodded her agreement.

"Well," shrugged Daphne, "you cheat on me, it's over; I don't care what your explanation is. Charlie treats me so much better. We're getting married next year."

"Can't believe your father's alright with that," Pansy muttered with a hint of a sneer on her face. "After all, he is a _Weasley_. It's not like he can even offer you money or anything of the sort."

Daphne snorted with laughter at Pansy's comment. "Pansy, darling," she cooed, "We Greengrasses have more than enough galleons to sustain ourselves; we will _not_ be looking to the Weasleys for support. The only thing we need their support for is our bloodline."

Millicent, Pansy and Mandy all widened their eyes in understanding.

"He's a Pureblood," realized Mandy, nodding slowly.

"Exactly," stated Daphne. "Do you realize that they are among the only remaining Pureblood lines in existence? My mother and father _told_ me to pursue Charlie Weasley; we Purebloods need to branch out at least a little, and it'd be a shame to see any of those Pureblooded Weasleys marrying Muggleborns or half-bloods and whatnot."

"So basically, you're taking one for the team? Create Pureblooded spawn with Weasley, carry on the bloodline, drop the surname later?" Pansy smirked at the thought.

Daphne frowned. "Of course, you're missing the part where I actually do care about him. Oh…and I'm due in January…that's why we're holding off the wedding, I do actually want to fit into my dress."

"If it's a girl, name it after me," joked Millicent.

"We've actually already decided on names," Daphne informed her happily. "Matilda if it's a girl, and Draco if it's a boy."

Pansy suddenly began to choke on her own spit. Daphne's eyes widened and she hit Pansy on the back. Pansy began to breathe again, then looked at Daphne incredulously.

"_Draco_?" she repeated. "May I ask why?"

"After my grandfather," said Daphne defensively. "It has nothing to do with—"

"Whatever," grumbled Pansy. "Just don't make me the godmother."

"I wasn't going to," retorted Daphne.

"Calm down, you two," griped Mandy, the corners of her mouth turned downward. "At least you guys aren't going to be stuck in this school for another entire year. What am I going to do without you three?"

"Well, I'm sure you'll find something to do," said Pansy offhandedly.

"Or someone!" piped up Daphne. She grinned at the expression on Mandy's face, then caught sight of the three Gryffindors by the lake. "Oh, look," she smirked. "I wonder what poor Granger's going to do now that her only two friends are running off without her."

"What do you mean?" questioned Millicent.

"Well, Ron's off to train with the Chudley Cannons in Bristol," explained Daphne with a flip of her hair. "He got free tickets to his first game for his family, Charlie's taking me…as for Potter, he's got Auror training, didn't you know? It'll take years until he has a spare moment to dote upon Granger."

The subject quickly changed, as no one really wanted to discuss the Golden Trio on their last day. Draco still sat underneath the tree, rereading his application for the umpteenth time; by this time Goyle had awkwardly hovered over to him and was sitting silently next to him, more pensive than anyone had ever seen him. Harry, Ron and Hermione were all laughing, their smiles bright despite the shadowed corner of the lake they were standing by. Though they were all engaged in different conversations, one common thought ran repetitiously through each of their minds—that Hogwarts was finally over.

Hermione's eyes swept across the grounds, taking in everyone's laughter and smiles and joy, trying to capture it all before the moment in which she would have to leave, which she knew was approaching closer and closer with each passing second.

They say time waits for no one.

Hermione wondered if, possibly, it would ever wait for her.


	2. If I Find My Way

**Author's Note: **Here it is-the first _real _chapter; the previous one was just the prologue...but it is slightly important, as details in that chapter will become important later on. This takes place two years later. Enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter One - Two Years Later  
**_If I Find My Way_

**

* * *

**

The clock was broken. It had to be.

Time always passed unbearably slowly for Draco Malfoy. The minutes took hours to tick away, and the hours—well, he didn't like to even think about the hours. Hours were murderous. It was a constant reminder of who was _really_ in charge…not himself, not his father, not that creature that Muggles referred to as God, in whom Draco wasn't even sure he believed…but time.

And this clock was moving too bloody slow to be functioning properly. He must have been standing here for days. How was it possible that the clock claimed he'd only been here two hours? It had to, _had to_ be broken.

Time existed but at the same time was remarkably unreal. It seemed to slow or quicken at the most inopportune times, and it could make or break your entire past, present, and future in one short instant.

He didn't like time.

Draco stared at the carpeted floor of the shop where he worked, completely idle. He wasn't moving, wasn't interacting—but time was still passing just the same. How inconsiderate, he thought.

He loathed the vague concept that had so many Unspeakables studying its significance, its power, and its mechanics. He loathed the rules when it came to time. Draco often liked to think that time didn't exist at all, and that with each passing moment he wasn't heading closer and closer to the end.

Broken from his thoughts as his co-worker, Mart, waved a pudgy hand in front of his face, Draco scowled.

Mart only raised his eyebrows, his bushy brows disappearing behind his straight brown bangs. "Oi, Drake, just got a new shipment of _Unfogging the Future_ for them unlucky third years. Do me a favor and set 'em up, will ya?"

Draco Malfoy exhaled deeply and headed toward the back table where the new shipments were kept. For nineteen-year-old Draco, a job was never really something he'd considered; he'd always thought he'd go into the Ministry and donate a large sum of money in exchange for some intimidating title like his father had, eventually receiving double the amount of galleons in volume, but a job? Malfoys never really held "real" jobs, only positions that involved lots of charisma and not much skill. Malfoys were too clever to work for their money; instead they utilized a buy-sell method that usually quadrupled their original investments. Despite the out-of-character nature of it all, after Hogwarts Draco had applied for a job at Flourish and Blotts. Everyone had been shocked at the choice in occupation, but no one as much as Draco. His father had given his (albeit hesitant) approbation, saying that the bookstore was actually doing fairly well and with any luck Draco could buy it later.

"We'll start a franchise, son," Lucius had suggested over breakfast one morning. "Malfoy and Malfoy instead of Flourish and Blotts. Just picture the lettering on the sign out front—solid gold. Huge, exclusive shops. Great bookstores. They'll never know what hit them."

But as wonderful as it all sounded, Draco didn't want to open a huge and exclusive shop. For Merlin's sake, all he wanted was a job so he could get out of the house and keep his sanity intact…which was something his father had apparently failed at doing. Lucius Malfoy had regressed, certainly—his house arrest meant that he was confined to stalking the halls out his enormous mansion day after day. Draco, after listening to his father chatter ceaselessly about the pecuniary benefits of working a low-tier occupation, had decided that he was going to avoid going insane at all costs. Not that stacking bookshelves all day was going to keep him sane, but it was better than sitting on his arse in Malfoy Manor listening to his father talk about the "good old days" when he ran around in a mask torturing people for recreational purposes.

So the young Malfoy took a deep breath and reached into the cardboard box. Out came an armful of Divination books that were headed straight for the shelves. It was nearly August, after all, and those third years would need their books. School would be starting soon…and with September 1st would end Draco's second year of freedom. Then again, Draco used the term "freedom" very loosely. As said before, being stuck between work and Malfoy Manor all day wasn't exactly his idea of freedom.

Then, suddenly, just as Draco had placed the last copy of _Unfogging the Future_ onto the dark mahogany bookshelf, a familiar voice floated through the air and broke him from his thoughts.

"Do you happen to have any copies of _Hogwarts, A History_? I heard there was a new special edition cover printed just last week."

He knew that voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mart talking with a head of brown curls.

_Oh, right_.

It had been two years since Hogwarts, but Draco still remembered the unfortunate girl that tagged along Potter and Weasley for those seven years of boarding school. He remembered the assorted insults, too—such colorful conversations he had had with the Golden Trio. They weren't exactly conversations, per se, more like threats outlining possibilities of his head on a platter, but the three Gryffindors certainly kept Draco sane while Goyle and Crabbe drained him of his intellect (but he reminded himself not to think bad things about Crabbe, remember). When he thought about it, everything Draco knew or relied on boiled down to keeping him sane. In the end, it was always about sanity.

That was probably why he remembered her voice. He was sure he could pick out Potter and Weasley's, too, but he hadn't seen them since graduating. In fact, all he'd really heard of the Boy Hero and his faithful sidekick was of their "inspired defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," as all the newspapers in the Wizarding World called it—but he'd been present for that, so it wasn't as if it was anything interesting. Sure, he'd seen their faces and names emblazoned on magazines and newspaper headlines for a good three months after the war, but he hadn't really gone out of his way to actually read the articles about them. As far as he knew, Potter and Weasley didn't exist anymore. But if he had to venture an educated guess, he'd say that Potter probably was undergoing training to become an Auror and was too busy to bother to come out in public anymore, and that Weasley had finally taken up on the extremely publicized offer to join the Chudley Cannons and hoist the team off the bottom of the charts. Draco hated himself for knowing these things, but he couldn't help that the article about Weasley's blossoming Quidditch career had been right next to the crossword in the _Daily Prophet_…and besides, everyone knew that Potter wanted to be an Auror.

But anyway, he kind of liked how the three friends threw insults at him, because he liked to think about the insults afterwards. It could be some sort of sick disease, but Draco always loved a good fight…but only when he was actually _involved_. He hated watching from the outside. He wanted to be the one throwing insults and throwing curses. Draco tensed as he remembered one pathetic attempt to pick a fight with Granger. When she had insulted his Quidditch-playing abilities in second year, he had retaliated with a smooth "Mudblood" that he had expected her to return with another quick slur. She didn't, though. She had been upset. Draco hadn't expected that. For the love of Merlin, all he had wanted was a good argument.

He placed another book atop the mahogany shelf. Granger had probably been the one who loathed him the least out of the three, but that didn't stop her from slapping him in third year. But ever since that slap, he'd always held a bit of a soft spot for her, as strange as it sounded. He wasn't sure if it was a grudging respect or a reluctant fear of continuing the abuse, but Draco had turned down the taunting to a minimum. It didn't help that Granger had entered the Yule ball looking like a thousand galleons.

And now she was standing in the store where he worked. But then again, it was a bookstore. He could hardly be surprised. His pale fingers slid over to a copy of _Unfogging the Future_ and moved it so as to hide his face. Though her words had kept him sane before, Draco really didn't feel like being insulted or slapped today, possibly both.

"They haven't edited the text, of course," continued Hermione Granger with almost a tone of bitterness to her voice. "But the cover's different, and it _is _limited edition. Do you know where I could find it?"

Mart shrugged stupidly, once again clueless. "I dunno, Miss. We've got quite a few copies o' _Unfogging the Future_, though."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched upward in amusement as he watched Hermione raise her eyebrows indignantly. Her tone of voice indicated that she, unlike Draco, was certainly _not_ amused. "I dropped out of Divination in my third year. Is there anyone here who might be able to help me, seeing as you can't?"

"Right here." Draco was surprised to hear his own voice coming from his mouth. Getting up from the table that housed the books he was dealing with, he turned to his former classmate and longtime enemy.

She looked at him, surprised.

"The new _Hogwarts, A History_?" he asked her, and she nodded. Draco led her to the very back of the store, where a small section was dedicated to all things having to do with Hogwarts. He pointed at each book as he spoke. "We've got _The Chamber of Secrets: A Comprehensive Account_—it's fairly new, your friend Potter's in here; _Famous Names in Hufflepuff History_—the shortest book in existence, I'd say; and I believe this is what you're looking for?"

He held up the newest hardbound edition of _Hogwarts, A History_. The cover was magnificent russet with black and gold décor lining the sides; the title was printed in plain yet somehow majestic script in the middle of the cover, and the edges were reinforced with high-quality leather. Draco had only skimmed the book a few times, and he had to admit that the extremely tasteful packaging might actually one day convince him to read the thing in its entirety.

"Wow," she breathed, completely taken in by its magnificence. "It's beautiful."

"Have a nice day," he said shortly, not wanting to engage in conversation.

Too late. Hermione made a move to stop him, then thought better of it and let her arm hang loosely at her side, the book clutched in the other.

"Thanks, Malf—Draco," she managed, though somewhat hesitant. "It was, um…good to see you."

Draco turned to her and curled his mouth into an amused smirk. "Granger, you're a lot of things—not all of them are pleasant, mind—but I never took you for a liar."

She didn't answer.

He turned away again, heading for the back shelf where he had yet to finish unpacking even more books—he thought he'd seen some copies of _A_ _History of Magic_ waiting to be properly sorted. "You can pay for that at the counter," he told her, jerking a thumb toward the cashier like she'd never even set foot in Flourish and Blotts before. "It's buy one, get one half off. We've got a no return policy."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and thanked him, her steady voice proving she was undeterred by Draco's obvious rebuff. She made her way toward the counter, and Draco made his way back to Bathilda Bagshot. He kept his face hidden behind a large stack of books until she had paid and left—only then did he come out from behind his hiding spot. He checked the clock hanging up behind the counter. It was nearly four o'clock.

Time. It really was a cocky, meddling bastard, wasn't it? But it meant only one hour until the end of his shift. Scowling, Draco lifted another textbook from the box and rested it on the shelf.

He distantly wondered where she'd been for the past few years. Not that he cared, really, but he was a bit curious. He only had a vague idea of where Potter and Weasel were because he kept an interest in the paper and read it at breakfast every morning, and their names had appeared once or twice, though Draco always made it a point not to read those particular articles. But her name had never appeared in any columns, and Draco knew this because he always combed the _Prophet _cover to cover. To be honest, he found this a bit strange; Granger had obviously been the brightest of the lot, and he was surprised that she hadn't made any significant discoveries to benefit wizardkind in the two years post-Hogwarts that had already passed.

"Draco?" the shopkeeper called. Draco's employer was an old man named Cyrus with graying hair, his misty eyes shielded by gold-rimmed oval frames. Draco didn't really like him, mostly because, after nearly two years, the man had never taken the time to properly learn how to say Draco's name. He still pronounced it with a short 'a' sound.

"What is it?" called back Draco, pretending to be adjusting the books on the shelves so he didn't look like he was just standing idly.

"Your father just Flooed," the shopkeeper said, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a smile. "He said it was urgent."

Draco followed the shopkeeper stiffly into his office, where a raging fire showed Lucius Malfoy's head glowering down at them. The shopkeeper's poor eyesight must have prevented him from realizing that this was the man who had been in the _Prophet _a lot in recent months—information about Lucius' upcoming trial and whatnot.

"I'll leave you two at it, then," beamed Draco's boss, and he shut the door behind him.

"Hey, Dad," Draco greeted his father sarcastically, staring into the greenish flames where his father's head bobbed up and down like some sort of holiday decoration.

Lucius ignored the greeting: it was clear he wanted to get straight to the reason for calling. Clearly he'd had his morning coffee this morning, as he was acting more like the old Lucius Malfoy than the new, slightly mad one. "Draco," said Lucius with a tone of urgency in his voice, "I need to you go to the Nott's this evening for me to pick up some important business forms. You know the address, yes?"

"Yes," answered Draco in slight irritation. His father was always asking him to run errands for him since his house arrest. This wasn't the first time Lucius had asked him to get forms, and Draco sincerely doubted they were for business. "Can't you just have him Floo the forms over? Or owl them to you?"

Lucius flared his nostrils as if this idea was incredibly preposterous. "These forms are more important than you realize, Draco. Owls can be intercepted, and I expect you know that the Floo Network is closely monitored by the Ministry, especially at our manor because of my house arrest. I am sure the both of us would feel much more reassured if they were handled in person."

"There's no one else who can do it?" Draco instantly regretted asking the question. His father's cinder eyebrows scrunched together in pain and calm annoyance.

"Of course there isn't," Lucius answered, a bit harshly. "You're the only one."

Lucius didn't mention that if only Narcissa was still alive, she would most likely be the one picking up the documents. He didn't have to say it. Draco knew. But ever since she had died five months ago, they never mentioned her name anymore.

"Alright then," agreed Draco reluctantly, knowing that he had no other option. "What do I have to do?"

"Go to the Nott's, and Theseus will hand you the business forms. There will be a small forest outside, some distance away from their house. Apparate from there; it will look less suspicious since Theseus is under house arrest as well and Theodore never got his license."

Draco smirked at this. He hadn't spoken to Theodore, or Theo, in months, but he was aware that he'd never taken the Apparation test out of sheer laziness. "Why would I waste my time learning to do something I can already accomplish another way?" he'd said to Draco in sixth year. "Haven't you heard of the broomstick? The Portkey? Floo powder? Besides, bloody Apparation is like getting sucked into a tube, I've heard."

If he had to choose a word to describe Theo, he would use the words "close acquaintance." Friend was a relative term. He wasn't really sure what true friendship was like, because he sincerely doubted his relationship with Theo was anything close to the one between Potter and Weasley, as much as he hated to admit it. But he and Theo were sort of friends. He wasn't really like Crabbe and Goyle, who had been more like bodyguards—Theo had offered his own opinions and ideas when the two of them were conversing. Theo had kept Draco sane during the seven turbulent years of Hogwarts.

"When should I leave?" Draco asked his father dully.

"Whenever your shift ends."

Draco nodded and moved his left foot backwards, signaling to his father that this conversation was over. "I don't know when I'll be back. I might stay awhile and chat with Theo."

His father's face in the fire nodded in agreement. "I'll see you then, Draco. Bitsy will have dinner on the table by seven as per usual."

Draco's back was turned, so he did not see the somewhat weakened expression on Lucius Malfoy's face as he disappeared from the green fire. Draco could sense it, though, the longing for the family the Malfoys had once been. Respectable, dignified, and relatively close.

It had all gone to pieces along with Narcissa.

Draco gripped the wooden doorframe to steady himself. His boss smiled again at him from behind the counter, which he was polishing with a damp rag. Draco really hated times like these, when that unforgivable wave of nostalgia flooded over him and reminded him that, yes, he did once have a family, a perfect family… It really was the ideal family, though, one that graced the many halls of Malfoy Manor by means of portraits and paintings. A tall, intelligent father who worked in the Ministry; a Slytherin prefect with outstanding N.E.W.T.s for a son; and a beautiful, caring mother with a nymph-like voice and soft hands.

They'd been perfect, the Malfoy family. Not everyone thought so, but that was because they couldn't see what the family was _really_ like, not just what they were like in public. The Malfoys cared about each other, of course they did. They passed the salt across the table like normal families and wished each other goodnight. They discussed the morning paper over eggs and biscuits and went on vacation. But nobody saw that.

And now it was too late. No one would be able to hear Narcissa Malfoy sing lullabies to Draco when he was just a small child. No one would ever stumble upon those quiet, stolen moments in the library when Narcissa and Lucius would curl up on the loveseat and read wizarding classics to each other. No one would remember how Lucius had taught Draco the proper way to throw a Quaffle, which had been among the best moments of Draco's childhood memories, even if his father had gotten angry halfway because Draco couldn't keep a firm grip on the ball.

They weren't really the most intimate family, Draco could certainly admit. They were refined and dignified though, so what could you expect? Those tender moments were fast and fleeting, but they mattered more than anything.

"You alright, Drake?" mumbled Mart as he walked past, levitating a large crate of books. He didn't stop long enough to hear Draco's answer, because he didn't care.

Draco watched as Mart exited through the wooden doors into the worker's lounge. "Sure," he said simply to nobody but himself. "I'm alright."

He was a Malfoy. He was always alright. Even when one-third of the Malfoy family was missing, he still had a reputation to uphold.


	3. Through the Darkest of Days

&B

**Author's Note:** This fic starts off slowly, but it'll get more exciting, I promise :)

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**Chapter Two  
**_Through the Darkest of Days_

* * *

He felt a bit awkward standing outside the looming mansion, his hand on the brass knocker. But Draco Malfoy was bred to be brave, or at least cunning enough to go through with the things he was expected to do.

He had Apparated to the forest after his shift had ended, though he had taken his sweet time doing it. Before leaving Flourish and Blotts, he had made sure to sweep every inch of the bookstore and inspect every volume upon every bookshelf. Then he'd taken a forty-minute walk around Diagon Alley, stopping to greet Chesmire from the Apothecary at least twice. So here he was at six o'clock standing in front of Nott Mansion, when he was due over an hour ago.

Draco knocked on the door, and it immediately swung open to reveal a small house elf. It had obviously been waiting for him.

"Fibby is to escort Master Malfoy to the lounge," bowed the house-elf, and began walking in the direction of the lounge. Draco recalled a few vague memories of being in this house when he was younger. He followed Fibby down the hallway, raking his fingers lightly against the faded wallpaper; it was black with grey fleur-de-lis stenciled immaculately in neat rows. Draco nearly cracked a smile when they passed the portrait of Theo's great-uncle Acheron; he and Theo had always had such colorful conversations with him back when they were little.

Finally, Fibby bowed him into the parlor. The room hadn't changed as much as Draco had. The furniture was the same, antique and obviously priceless, yet no doubt reinforced with charms to ensure that they held against human weight. They must have been, for he remembered testing the old couches and chairs with stones from outside one afternoon many years ago with Theodore.

"Draco Malfoy, is that you?"

Draco turned abrubtly at the voice and nodded. "Mr. Nott," Draco greeted, inclining his head slightly. He stared into the dull black eyes of Theseus Nott, taking in his silver hair and square spectacles. "Out of Azkaban and well, I see."

Mr. Nott smiled tightly, his hand gripping his cane with force. "Just until they schedule a trial, as I'm sure you know. I trust you're here for the documents?"

Without waiting for an answer, he reached into his robes and pulled out a rather thick stack of parchment bound together with string. Draco knew perfectly well that they weren't business forms – Lucius Malfoy had quit his job two years ago, right after the war. Draco reached for it, but it must have been charmed with a protective enchantment, for the instant his fingers brushed against the documents, red vines materialized and tightly bound his wrists.

"Halt," barked Mr. Nott, and the vines instantly recoiled. Draco only raised his eyebrows; he had expected nothing more; purebloods were naturally protective of their affairs. "It's voice activated," Mr. Nott explained, then helped Draco place the documents in the pocket of Draco's robes. "I've set it so that if anyone but your father or I tried that, they'd die a considerably painful death. Even Theodore here."

Theo, Draco's Hogwarts classmate, had just slunk into the room in blood red robes. He mock-saluted Draco and took a seat on the couch.

"Hey, Father," nodded Theo. Mr. Nott smiled stiffly again and swept from the room, leaving the two boys alone. It was like old times again, sitting up on their four-poster beds in the middle of the night by the light of their wands, having conversations. The only thing missing was the sound of Goyle's snoring, but Draco and Theo would always just snicker and pelt him with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Sometimes Blaise would join in on their conversations as well, as would Crabbe with his occasional grunts—Draco felt a strange pang in his chest at the thought of Crabbe. He glanced once more around the room. Draco hadn't seen Theo in person for eight months and hadn't spoken to him in five, but he felt surprisingly at home here.

With his father gone, Theo leaned back on the couch and propped his feet up on the table. He gave Draco the once-over, a superior expression on his face. "Still single, I take it?" he guessed. "Dressed like that, you're bound to be."

Draco glanced down at himself in masked confusion—he was wearing black silk robes that had cost a fortune at Twillfit and Tatting's. "Dunno what you mean."

Theo pointed at him almost accusingly. "You're always in black, mate. Girls think it's boring. Seven years of plain black robes and you'd think you'd try something new."

"I happen to like this color," Draco said, trying very hard not to sound defensive. Theo shrugged and grabbed an apple off the table, tossing one to Draco as well. Draco caught it and opened his mouth again to speak. "Where's your girlfriend then?" he ventured protectively. "If you're such a genius on men's fashion and whatnot."

Theo grinned, and it was suddenly clear that he'd set Draco up. "France, mate. She's in France."

Draco let out a low whistle and said, "Wow."

"Just met her a few months ago," bragged Theo, stretching his arms leisurely. "Amazing. But I keep things interesting every now and then." Draco figured Theo was cheating on her already; he'd been the same way with Daphne back at Hogwarts, which was probably why she'd dumped him and downgraded to Weasley's dragon-obsessed brother. "I know for a fact she's got some nice-looking cousins, Draco, if you want to be introduced or something. But I might just keep them all for myself."

Draco only rolled his eyes at the suggestion.

"So," said Theo, "where have you been? It's been ages, yeah?"

"Yes," agreed Draco. "I got a job."

Theo spit his apple onto the dark pinewood floor and clapped his hands together as if he'd just thought of something. "I heard about that!" he told Draco, almost as if he'd thought the whole thing was some sort of sick joke, and now was suddenly true. "I passed by Zabini at Borgin's a few weeks ago and he mentioned you worked at F. But according to him you've been working there a while now, how come you never told me? Are you having a crisis or something?"

Draco smirked, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand. _I _don't even understand."

Theo raised his eyebrows as he thought of something. "By the way, how're things with Pansy? You guys break the big news yet?"

He only laughed at this. "Come off it, Theo, you know that girl gives me Jelly-Legs, and not in a good way. I try not to talk to her now. Haven't in ages. I didn't think all those make-out sessions at Hogwarts were actually serious for her."

Theo chuckled knowingly and took a bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah, you were smart to get rid of her, I guess. The girl's got a personality like a disease; you wouldn't have lasted three days in a marriage with _that_."

"Precisely why I chose not to try."

"She wasn't too bad-looking," shrugged Theo, "once you got past the nose. I did see her at a pub a few months ago, and she asked about you."

Draco groaned and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Spare me, mate."

Theo only laughed. "No worries, I told her I didn't know what you were up to these days…which, at the time, was actually perfectly true." Then the grin on Theo's face suddenly cleared, replaced with a serious expression. Theo stared him up and down, his eyes questioning. "You're free of Pansy, but the clock's ticking. Seriously, when are you going to get yourself a girl?"

Draco sighed and bit into his own apple. In most pureblooded families, people at nineteen were already engaged, or at least in a serious relationship. This was mostly due to the fact that, according to tradition, most old wizarding families did not allow their children to access their Gringott's accounts unless they were married. It was like a trust fund with a condition—families didn't want their bachelor sons spending their fortunes on "useless, frivolous fancies." It was yet another security ward placed on their inheritances. His own father, Lucius Malfoy, had waited until age twenty-three to be married, and people had thought him strange for that. Draco had so far turned down every pureblooded girl his father had invited over for dinner. He wasn't really sure why.

Theo looked at him expectantly.

"I dunno," said Draco truthfully. "It'll happen when it happens."

"Okay," shrugged Theo. "But I've gotta say, Draco, I think you're the only guy I know who actually aspires to die a virgin."

"Cheers." Draco tossed his apple core upward, and it promptly disappeared into thin air, showcasing the wonders of house-elf magic.

* * *

He'd stayed longer that he'd meant to. Theo and Draco had talked and caught up for hours, and Theo had even showed Draco a picture of him and his girlfriend. She was stunning, Draco had to admit, and he liked to think his standards were pretty high.

The visit had taken a lot out of him. He wasn't used to being social, not since his father's house arrest prevented him from having too many visitors at one time, and not since his mother had died. He just couldn't cope with talking with people. He'd done it tonight, but he was almost sure it had been a one-time thing.

He just wanted to get home. He swore that was all he wanted as he walked past the Muggle playground on his way back to the woods. He hadn't meant to stay that long at the Nott's. He checked the gold wristwatch his mother and father had bought him for his seventeenth; it was nine-oh-three.

Draco just wanted to lie in bed and dream with his eyes open.

He was on his way to an area somewhat surrounded by trees so he could Apparate home when he saw a lone figure sitting on the swings, her legs crossed at the ankles and barely skimming the ground.

It was a girl. A girl in a cloak. A girl nestling a familiar-looking book under her arm, a book that looked strangely like the newest edition of _Hogwarts, A History_. A girl with a face that looked a lot like—

"Good evening, Granger."

He wasn't sure what possessed him to speak with her that night. He would never be sure, even years later. All he knew what that according to unofficial Malfoy law, he was supposed to keep walking towards home, and perhaps pay a visit to a nice family of purebloods with a daughter his age on the way. Why stop to speak to a Muggle-born?

But he did anyway. Just to spite his ancestors, he would later say.

Hermione glanced up at him, uninterested. She wasn't crying, but she harbored a sadness that Draco could feel even from a distance. Had the war affected her too?

Obviously, he thought to himself. She was at the heart of it.

He walked up to her, once again not really sure what he was doing. He prepared himself to insult her, insult her family, insult her friends, insult her friends' families…but instead a question tumbled from his mouth. "Do you come here often?"

But his question was really, "Are you as alone as I am?"

Her eyes swam only slightly as she nodded, her rich brown curls bobbing up and down. "I come here all the time," she whispered.

Next came an unsettling degree of embarrassed, discomfited silence as Hermione stubbornly dropped her head down and continued to read. He looked down at her hands, in which rested an elegant-looking book that could only be the one she purchased today. "I see you've got your book," he observed lamely.

Hermione raised a single eyebrow and snapped the book shut, letting it rest on her lap. "You don't have to try and be civil, Malfoy. You proved that today in Flourish and Blotts. I'm perfectly fine sitting here by myself."

"How do you do that?" he asked suddenly. A small voice inside his head wondered why he was talking so much, but he ignored it.

"Do what?" She asked in return, distracted.

"Raise only one eyebrow. I've tried for years and I just can't manage it."

Hermione's mouth hung halfway open, as if she had been about to make a statement, but then she just pursed her lips and flipped the book open again. This was insane, she thought. This was not Draco Malfoy, at least not the one she had known during school. He was still a bit rude, yes, but there was something else, something she couldn't quite place. The _real_ Draco Malfoy would not be concerned with eyebrow-raising, and to be honest, she wasn't entirely sure how to react to this new development.

So instead of choosing to tackle this puzzle head-on, she kept her head down as her eyes roamed leisurely over the words she had read already countless times, hoping he would go away. Draco stood still over her, looking off into the distance. Hermione wished he would leave.

Hermione didn't know if the next question she asked was directed towards him or herself. "Why are you here?"

"Theodore Nott lives over there," said Draco, cocking his head in the direction of Nott Mansion. Well, at least he had a reason, Hermione noted, and she craned her neck to see the magnificent house, her eyes enlarging at the sight of it. Draco looked over too, and he had to admit, the house did look astonishing under the glare of the moonlight. Its black turrets and metal hinges made it look dark and forbidding. Though it was incredible, Hermione couldn't imagine why anyone would live there.

She remembered seeing Malfoy Manor during her seventh year when she, Harry and Ron had been captured by Death Eaters and brought there. She'd thought the place wasn't too cold or too threatening, especially with the addition of the pure white peacocks she'd seen roaming the grounds. The dungeons had been terrible, but at least they'd been slightly insulated, and Hermione fancied that had she been under completely different circumstances during her stay at Malfoy Manor, she might have had an overall different impression of the place and perhaps would have even found the house to resemble a home.

Hermione frowned to herself when she realized that she was comparing Malfoy Manor to Nott Mansion…she liked neither of these boys and cared for neither of them, so why was she spending such close attention to their places of residence? This was one of the rare times when Hermione would admit to herself that she thought too much.

And so she buried her head in her book again, trying to ignore the boy's presence.

"You smell nice," Draco said suddenly, as he caught a whiff of raspberries and pine. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. But she _did _smell nice. The scent was unusual, yet Draco to his surprise did not mind the smell of a Muggle-born, which he found quite strange indeed.

Hermione didn't know how to react to his statement: this much was clear in her actions. She shrugged, twice, and said, "Well, I garden. You know. I have a little plot of land, nothing as grand as the Malfoy estate, I'm sure, but it's enough, and I'm out there a lot and…yes." She bit her lip to hold back anything else she might possibly say to him, might possibly give away. "I've got to go."

Hermione stood up and tucked the book under her arm, pulling the hood of her cloak above her head. As she began to walk away, her feet slapping almost obnoxiously against the pavement, Draco called out to her.

"There's nothing wrong with being alone, Granger."

She pretended not to hear.


	4. Will I Laugh About

**Author's Note: **Some background information for you all—I started writing this three years ago. The title, _Cue the Sun_, is actually borrowed from the song performed by the band Daphne Loves Derby. After hearing the song for the first time and really listening to the lyrics, I was inspired to write a short drabble which later turned into an entire chapter and finally, an entire storyline. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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**Chapter Three  
**_Will I Laugh About_

**

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**

He entered Malfoy Manor again around ten; it had taken that long to find his way home, even though Apparation was easy for him. Draco had walked the grounds for longer than he'd meant to, but now he was back. Home sweet home. Bitsy was scurrying around snapping her fingers in rapid succession, trying to get rid of all the dust in a hurry. She was picking up stray shoes and old cloaks on her way.

"Bitsy is so sorry for the mess!" she cried, her eyes fearfully wide. "Bitsy is cleaning it up, please be closing your eyes until Bitsy finishes!"

"_I_," Draco corrected her, hanging his cloak on the rack by the door. "_I_ am so sorry for the mess. You shouldn't always talk in third person, Bitsy."

"Bitsy tries, Bitsy tries!" the house-elf squeaked. "Too difficult for Bitsy!" She ran into the parlor next, smoothing out the antique rug carefully with her long fingers. After she was done, she stopped in front of Draco and added, "Dinner is being on the table, Master Malfoy. Spanish rice and pinto beans, your favorite!"

For what seemed like the first time in years, Draco cracked a smile and nodded. "Thanks."

Spanish rice and pinto beans? Not exactly his favorite, as he didn't believe in having favorites of anything. But ever since Bitsy's first night working at Malfoy Manor, Bitsy would always insist on asking him no matter how many times he said he didn't hold favorites, and on one particular night he had glanced down at his plate and muttered the name of the dish in front of him, which had happened to be Spanish rice and pinto beans. It was alright though. Bitsy was a considerably accomplished cook, so anything she made was fine.

And anyway, it was the thought that counted. The fact that anyone cared about what he wanted to eat was enough.

He found himself sitting at the dinner table. His father was somewhere else, so Draco just left the packet of documents on the table next to him, being careful not to actually touch them but instead letting them slide gently out of his pocket. He chewed slowly. The Spanish rice was particularly good tonight. The beans could have been better, but they were still worth mentioning in conversation. He made a mental note to ask Bitsy what her secret ingredient was and then ask her to use it in all her cooking.

Draco looked around. He was nineteen and single, and he was still living at home with his borderline mental father. He worked part-time at Flourish and Blotts, which was a bookstore that hired anyone who could be classified as a mammal, and probably some who couldn't. Some nights, Draco just wanted to end it all.

But things were different now, weren't they? He'd talked to other people today. He'd struck up a conversation once, twice, three times! Draco suddenly paled. Wasn't that a bad, thing, though?

He stood up abruptly from the dinner table and headed quickly to his room, his thoughts reeling.

Merlin, what had he done? What happened to the life of modified solitude he'd sworn himself too? He was supposed to speak to only his father, Bitsy, and assorted co-workers. It wasn't official or anything, but it was kind of an unspoken agreement between him and his own conscience. It had lasted about four months, since he'd just broken it today. It wasn't going anywhere.

But what was this whole thing with Granger? _You smell nice_, he'd said. At the memory of this—the almost _painful_ memory—Draco paled yet again. Had he really said that? So what if she smelled of raspberries and pine? A lot of people smelled like fruits. And trees, for that matter. And honestly, they'd been standing right next to a _forest_.

He didn't understand why he'd stopped to speak with her. She'd just looked a bit lonely, sitting there on the swings holding a fancy hardbound book. But since when did Draco give the faintest hoot about lonesome teenage bookworms without anyone to talk to?

"Holy Hufflepuff, I'm going soft," muttered Draco madly, smacking himself in the face.

He'd sworn he'd _never_ go soft. It was a pact he'd made with Crabbe and Goyle his first year when the three of them had gotten a good look at Quirrell and his stuttering speech impediment. Of course, Crabbe and Goyle hadn't really understood what a pact was ("Can you eat it?" Goyle had asked), but it was the whole principle of the thing.

He'd just forget about tonight. Yes, that would be simple enough. It had only been a five-minute conversation, anyway, even if it _was_ with Granger. If anyone asked, he had Apparated straight home after leaving Theodore Nott's house. No detours. Certainly not.

Even if he couldn't forget about it right this instant, he eventually would. After all, it wasn't as if Hermione Granger was going to actually come looking for him or anything.

* * *

"Draco, there's a Miss Hermione Granger looking for you at the counter."

Draco slammed his cup of tea onto the table in the worker's lounge in dismay and glanced up at the heavens. _Naturally_, he thought.

"I'll be right there," Draco answered in defeat. What else could he do? He got up from his chair and headed over to the counter, where Hermione was standing, obviously ill at ease. Draco raised his eyebrows in a sort of unspoken question.

"Your watch dropped last night," explained Hermione hastily, pushing the golden timepiece into his hands, and sure enough, there his name was: _Draco Abraxas Malfoy _was engraved on the back in small letters. _Draco_ and _Abraxas_ were both smaller than the word _Malfoy_, which reached from almost one edge of the watch to the other. "I doubled back after you'd left and found it by the swings. The clasp was broken. I fixed it, though. I would've given it to you last night, of course, but you were gone by the time I realized… I remembered that you worked here, so…"

"It's alright," Draco managed, cutting off the rest of her sentence. "I actually didn't notice I was missing my watch."

Hermione said nothing.

"Well…thanks." Draco shrugged and snapped the watch back on his wrist, then made to turn away so as to continue drinking his coffee. A sharp tap on the shoulder stopped him.

"I want to know why you talked to me last night," Hermione told him resolutely, her mouth set in a thin line so determined that Draco was almost a bit intimidated. In fact, he was so strongly reminded of Professor McGonagall in that instant that he almost began fabricating excuses for his missing essay on Transfiguring invertebrates.

Draco frowned and placed his hands in the pocket of his robes. "Oh, believe me, Granger, I'd like to know that as well. If you'll excuse me—"

Hermione stepped directly in front of him so that he could not pass. When he took a step to his left, she mirrored it and blocked him.

Draco sighed in exasperation. "Granger, what do you want?"

"I want to _know_," said Hermione.

"_I_ don't know," admitted Draco, "so how can I possibly tell you? For the love of Merlin, I'm working a shift now."

Hermione, apparently, was not concerned with whether or not Draco Malfoy had a job to do. "How can you just stand there and not care?" she wondered aloud. "Here I am, my mind completely cluttered with possible theories concerning why my schooltime nemesis would even bother to talk to me after two years, and you're worried about your shift?"

"Okay," said Draco in complete annoyance. "Granger, I accept that there was something strange about our conversation last night, but it was just like any other spur-of-the-moment conversation you strike up with a stranger. And like any other spur-of-the-moment conversation, you forget about it. We spent three minutes on a playground talking about nothing at all. It's not important."

"It is important!" insisted Hermione. "Now tell me why!"

"There is no _why_!" whispered Draco harshly, trying to sidestep her to get to the shelves where another crate of unpacked books was waiting for him. Any more delays and Cyrus would have his head. "I stopped to talk to you because I had nothing else to do, and there's nothing else to it. Stop making a big deal out of it. Must everything add up to the sum of the parts, Granger? Can't you accept that sometimes there _isn't_ a reason for everything, or is that too vague a concept for you to understand?"

Hermione's eyes were cold as she straightened her posture and folded her arms. Draco met her steely gaze as she said, "So…you're not going to _do _anything about it?"

"_Do_? What can I possibly do?" countered Draco in exasperation, finally throwing his arms up in the air, appearances all out the window. "_Apologize_ for offering my intellectual conversation yesterday? Or offer my intellectual conversation yet again?"

Instead of laughing as he had expected her to, and instead of seeing the preposterousness in this matter just as Draco did, Hermione swiftly offered a hand and said, "I accept."

Wait, what?

His jaw would have nearly dropped to the floor had he been anyone else, but he was a Malfoy.

"I'll see you at seven sharp, Draco Malfoy. Meet me at Ida's Spaghetteria…it's the Muggle restaurant right across the street from the Leaky Cauldron."

"Really?" challenged Draco, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. As if Granger had any say in what he chose to do. "And what if I decide not to show?"

She didn't hesitate. With her head held high, Hermione started walking briskly out of the shop, stopping by the door just long enough to answer him:

"Then I'll come fetch you myself."

The bell jingled merrily as she shut the door behind her.

"Wow," breathed Mart, and it was only then that Draco realized he had been standing beside him breathing down his neck the entire time. "Yeh're one lucky house-elf."

Draco swallowed. He wasn't so sure.

"Don't jiss stand there like a bloody prat, start unpacking boxes," ordered Mart, shoving a crate of books into Draco's unprepared arms; his knees nearly buckled from the sudden force. "If you're leaving before your shift is over you'd better bloody do your part."

When Mart's back was turned, Draco scowled and stuck up his middle finger, then cursed angrily when the crate of books fell and hit him squarely in the toe.

* * *

For once in his life, Draco Malfoy would have given anything to be able to slow time, yet somehow his disinclination to see Granger later that evening only made the minute hand on the clock move faster. This was the peculiar thing that he hated about time—it always did the exact opposite of what he would prefer. Every single time.

He checked his own watch, just to make sure the time was correct. Draco scowled. Apparently the clock in Flourish and Blotts was seven minutes slow, and it was actually a quarter to seven at the moment, leaving Draco a mere fifteen minutes to get to the Muggle restaurant.

"Great," he muttered to himself. He dusted one last bookshelf, taking his own sweet time, then informed Cyrus once again of his early leave. He even waved goodbye to Mart on his way out, just to delay him the extra three and a half seconds.

As soon as he walked outside, Draco knew something was very off about today. The sun was much too bright; the people around him were speaking and laughing much too loudly. It was as if the entire universe was against him today, trying to prevent his happiness. He kept walking.

He wasn't even entirely sure why he was even going to meet her, but he figured that he had to set things straight with her eventually. After all, she'd said that if he didn't show, she would come fetch him from Flourish and Blotts, and walking around with Granger in the much-crowded Diagon Alley was a thousand times worse than sitting across from her in a wizard-free Muggle restaurant. Draco supposed Hermione had thought this through, and actually credited her for this brilliant scheme.

He was just going to go into that restaurant and tell her what was what.

He nodded his greeting to Chesmire as he passed the apothecary. Chesmire was a family friend…_family_. Draco'd head started to hurt as he remembered his father sitting at home. He wondered what Lucius Malfoy would think of Draco's spaghetti dinner tonight.

Draco rounded the last corner and finally entered the Leaky Cauldron. He checked his watch again—6:57. He didn't even have time to stop for a Firewhiskey to numb his mind before going in there. _Perfect_, he thought bitterly. He seriously considered just being late and having the Firewhiskey anyway, but Draco Malfoy was nothing if not punctual.

Taking a very deep breath, Draco pushed the front door open and stepped out into Muggle London. He could see Ida's Spaghetteria right in front of him, across the street just as she'd said. He could see her too, sitting at the table by the window. Her wrists were crossed daintily in front of her as she looked straight ahead into nothingness. Her hair was everywhere, but in a nice sort of way. She was wearing Muggle clothes—a pale blue top and a gauzy white skirt that fell to her knees. Draco was not sure he could do this.

The bell on top of the door of the restaurant clinked merrily as Draco entered. Hermione saw him and waved…he had trouble reading her expression… Draco sat and took in his surroundings. The restaurant was small; the walls were decorated with cheap-looking wallpaper that was yellow and covered with little hens wearing bonnets. He scowled at the tasteless décor. The table they were sitting at was small and round with a red and white checkered tablecloth covering it. Draco felt the material—the tablecloth was plastic. There was a dark blue vase on the table containing a single fake fabric rose.

"I've already ordered," said Hermione shortly.

Draco suddenly became aware of all the Muggles in the place and looked down at his own attire. "Granger, I look like an idiot here in my robes."

"You shouldn't have worn robes, then."

Draco frowned. "You're right, I should have just gone through my Muggle closet and picked out a straw hat to match the horrifying interior decorations in this particular restaurant. Oh, and those awful denim pants with the built-in suspenders."

"They're called overalls, Malfoy."

"Like I care, Granger."

He was surprised to see her crack a smile. "I know," she said lightly. "This place looks silly with its hens and roosters, doesn't it, but trust me, the food is great."

Almost as if on cue, a waiter appeared with two large plates of spaghetti and meatballs. As the acne-ridden teenager set the plates down before him, Draco noticed roosters in overalls painted carefully on the porcelain. He was slightly amused by this and mentally congratulated himself for hitting the nail on the head earlier. Lucius would skin him, he realized, for being here. But Draco had to admit, the food did smell good. He took a bite and nodded his head towards Hermione in approval. Then a thought seemed to occur to him.

"Granger, why am I here?"

She shrugged, twirling some of her own spaghetti on her fork. "I thought maybe we could chat. I just was curious as to your behavior last night."

Draco could have guessed as much. "So am I," he admitted. "But trust me, I will not be talking to you ever again."

It came out a lot more harshly than he'd meant it to. He could see her shoulders deflate, her eyes widen slightly, and her jaw drop a centimeter. He almost wished he could retract that statement, but Malfoys never apologized. He just looked down at his plate of spaghetti and speared another meatball. Chewing furiously and swallowing, he pushed his chair back roughly and stood up, trying to ignore her wide and confused eyes.

"Er, here…I think a galleon should more than cover my meal?" He hastily shoved the coin in her direction. He paused, and after a second thought, he dug into the pocket of his robes again, plunked another gold coin on the table, and left the restaurant without eating another bite. Hermione bit her lip in frantic contemplation as she watched him close the door behind him. Through the window, she could see him crossing the street and almost diving into the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione could have slapped herself.

She didn't know why she expected Malfoy to act any differently than he had in school. Clearly, he couldn't stand to be around her, couldn't possibly fathom that mere Muggle-borns could ever have the slightest measurable amount of intelligence or honor. Hermione would have been lying had she pretended not to be hurt, and she hated herself for thinking that way. This was Malfoy, after all, and Hermione Granger did not care what Draco Malfoy thought of her.

She ate another bite of pasta. She did feel a little pathetic, she'd admit. But it wasn't as if she were _alone_. Her friends were just…elsewhere. Harry was just so busy with Auror training that he hardly ever even left the Ministry—never mind the mountains of textbooks he had to study on top of his physical training; knowledge of the Potions and enchantments necessary to pass the exam had taken even the best of Aurors years to perfect. Hermione hadn't seen Ron since graduation, except in the Quidditch section of the _Daily Prophet_ and Christmas last year at the Weasleys. And Ginny…she'd never been particularly close with Ginny, not like she was with Harry and Ron anyway, but Hermione considered her an indispensable friend nonetheless and regretted that Ginny was busy studying to be a Healer.

But her loneliness didn't fully explain her sudden wish to befriend her best friend's arch-nemesis. This was Hermione's inherent instinct to see the good in everyone, she realized. Hermione smiled at this fleeting fancy and almost laughed out loud. Of course, she thought—she'd seen the good in Malfoy back in second year, hadn't she? She'd defended him again in sixth year when Harry insisted that Malfoy was behind all of the Dark Magic going on at Hogwarts, when he'd sworn that Malfoy had already been initiated into the Death Eater Clan. And now, just when she'd hit rock bottom and was comparably alone in the universe, she forced herself to see the good in him now.

Hermione's previous distress was then replaced by a sudden burning anger. Who was Malfoy to just walk out on her like that? Who was he to humiliate her, when she was the one who should have always had the upper hand? And who was he to confuse her by so very enigmatically initiating a conversation with her underneath the blankets of night?

She'd stuck up for him back at Hogwarts, saying he was just a normal boy with normal fears and concerns…she'd said that there was some good in everyone.

Perhaps not.

But the things he had said last night…it was a normal conversation. And to tell the absolute truth, Hermione was just a little bit curious. But then again, her curiosity was usually the source of her previous adventures and woes. She'd daresay she enjoyed those adventures.

Her thoughts trailed back to what Malfoy had said to her in the park yesterday night.

_There's nothing wrong with being alone, Granger._

She wondered if he had been talking about her, or if he had purely been trying to convince himself.


	5. The Things That Kept Me Awake

**Author's Note: **A little bit of a filler chapter, but trust me, just setting the stage for later on and explaining things now that would have otherwise been confusing in following chapters. Please bear with me :) I've written up to Chapter Nine already and am currently working on Chapter Ten, and I can tell you all that I'm pretty excited about this one. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, reviews are appreciated :)

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**_The Things That Kept Me Awake_

_"It is strange to be known so universally and yet to __be so lonely."__  
__- Albert Einstein_

_

* * *

_

"How'd your date go?" Mart sniggered childishly. "She was good-looking, Drake, I'm impressed."

Draco just shrugged as he handed a middle-aged witch in magenta robes her change. "It didn't really go," he said simply, hoping Mart would take the hint and drop the subject.

He didn't. "Now what d'ya mean, Drake?" he asked, his smile growing wider. "Don't tell me you messed things up already, you've barely had a chance to."

"Mart, bugger off."

"I'm jiss saying!" The chubby coworker threw his hands up in the air and gave his signature sheepish grin. "Even _I_ could have done a little better than _you_…"

Draco rubbed his temples, squinting his eyes in discomfort. He had barely slept all night, and the sound of Mart's voice only made his headache worse. It was peculiar, really. Draco had never had trouble sleeping before, and finally, at around four in the morning, after ambling around the entirety of Malfoy Manor in lofty hopes of tiring himself out, he'd taken a small sip of an unmarked bottle of sleeping potion his father kept in his private stores. He didn't doubt that without it, he wouldn't have slept for a single moment.

He would admit that his inability to sleep had something to do with his uncharacteristically turbulent thoughts last night as he lay in his bed, but he would never, _ever_, not in a million years, admit that those uncharacteristically turbulent thoughts had anything to do with _her_.

Even though they did.

Shit.

Draco picked up the damp rag lying on the counter and polished the wood for what seemed like the millionth time. He'd felt strange after walking out on Granger yesterday. Almost…_bad_.

He felt a sudden sharp stab of pain shoot through him. _What's this?_ thought Draco. _Am I having a damn heart attack?_

Or maybe, he thought to his horror, he was just feeling bad for Granger. Was this was regret felt like? Draco shook his head to himself—of course not, he didn't even want to see Granger, so why would it bother him that he'd left her sitting at a dinner table all by herself with two full plates of pasta?

He frowned.

"Oi, Mart," Draco called, and Mart turned to face him from where he'd been stacking shelves. "I've got a question for you."

"Sure," shrugged Mart.

"Say I messed things up with this girl…say I wanted to fix things."

Mart scrunched his eyebrows together. "Are you serious, mate?" he scoffed, as if Draco's female woes were cake to him. "This ain't Advanced Arithmancy. Jiss ask 'er out again."

Draco blinked. "Ask her…out?"

Mart gave Draco a funny look, almost as if he felt sorry for him—ha! Imagine! A person like Mart feeling sorry for a Malfoy…and Draco understood what exactly Mart was insinuating.

"Oh, no," Draco said suddenly. "Oh, no, no no, this isn't—I mean, I'm not…I'm not asking her _out_, I'm just taking her out…not _out_, but just outside."

"Alright."

"To a restaurant."

"Okay."

"To apologize for being rude."

"Fantastic."

"Er…" Draco felt very, very uncomfortable. "Well, thanks Mart."

The grin that met him was missing a few teeth, but it made Draco grin half-heartedly in return. "No worries, Drake," said Mart, going back to his prior task of stacking the shelves with dusty secondhand textbooks being sold for half-price. "If you ever need romantic advice, you know where to find me."

Draco wasn't sure of many things, but he was absolutely, positively sure that he would _never_ go hunting Mart for his romantic advice.

"_Draco!_"

The high-pitched shriek cut through the air. He looked up at the sound of his name, and no sooner had he done so than he wanted to bolt from the room, for standing right in front of him was the girl he'd long since wished he'd never have to see again.

Draco gulped. "Hello, Pansy."

The former Slytherin girl took no time rushing over to him and throwing her arms around him, wrapping herself around Draco in the most violating and suffocating hug he had ever experienced. He knew who was behind this…this had to be Theo's doing.

"Theo told you I worked here, didn't he?" guessed Draco grimly.

Her smile didn't fade, and Draco knew he'd been correct. "Don't be silly, Draco," she scoffed, playfully swatting him on the shoulder. "What makes you say that?"

"Pansy, you hadn't set foot in a bookstore until today."

The smile was gone. "You're right," she admitted heavily. "I'd asked Theo to contact me as soon as he got news of you. Bribed him. I'll stop pretending, Draco, if you promise to do the same."

Now it was Draco turn to scoff. "What on earth are you talking about, Parkinson?"

"Money."

Draco fell silent.

Pansy smirked at his speechlessness and continued, her voice firm and calculating. "We're both single. I don't know about you, but my father will only give me so much gold now that I'm out of Hogwarts. He says I'm either to get a job or get married."

"A shame really," clucked Draco sympathetically. "Since neither option is possible for you."

"I was hoping you'd make that possible."

"No, Pansy, I will not get you a job here."

She scowled. "You know what I _meant_, Draco. And don't act like you'd be doing me some huge favor by marrying me, because Theo happened to mention to me that you're desperately alone as well!"

"I am not desperately alone," growled Draco. "And if you recall what I said to you on the last day of Hogwarts, I would _much rather_ live a life of solitude than live with _you_."

"You don't mean that," barked Pansy. "I'm twice your worth, Draco. And you need me as your wife, don't be stupid. You need my family history, my lineage, my good name."

"I need you to get the hell out of this store," Draco drawled, still polishing the same wooden counter with the same rag. "Do you have the slightest idea how ridiculous you sound right now?" He placed the rag down, stepped out from behind the register, and made his way through the shelves; Pansy followed.

"Look, Draco, if you just agree to this, I'll even forget all those nasty things you said on—"

"Does the fact that I broke up with you through owl on the last day of school while I was sitting seven seats away even register the slightest bit with you? _We are no longer compatible._"

"Of course we are, you dolt—"

Draco's eyes widened with indignation and rage, but he kept his eyes forward and continued walking through the aisles while she followed him. "Alright, you're a great girl, Pansy, is that what you want to hear? It's not you, it's me; I hope we can still be friends…my reason is irrelevant, you're just not the girl for me, alright?"

She caught him on the sleeve of his robe and pulled. "Draco—"

"Pansy," Draco hissed, suddenly turning to face her. He leaned in very, very close. "Now," he said, "I will make this perfectly clear. You are going to leave this store. You are never going to bother me again. I will not let you ruin my life."

Her bottom lip quivered slightly. "Dr—Draco?"

"The door is that way." He pointed towards the main entrance. With a final dirty look, Pansy walked briskly towards it, barely holding back tears. Her informal marriage proposal had been a long shot, she'd admit. She'd just been so happy, so excited to see him after all these years, that she hadn't been thinking straight.

"Oh, and Pansy?"

She turned to face him. He was just as she remembered him from Hogwarts. That perfect, pale skin, those grey eyes. The platinum hair that she'd once run her fingers through. Today it was slicked back, but a few strands had escaped and fell forward. If she only took a few steps and reached out her hand, she could brush them back to where they belonged—

"Yes, Draco?"

He didn't even care that the next words that he spoke were not entirely truthful: "I'm seeing someone later tonight. So forgive me if marrying you isn't an option."

Her eyes glassed over, not wanting to believe. The thought that Draco could possibly have eyes for anyone but her was simply ridiculous. Impossible. They were made for each other; everyone knew that. It was what her parents had always told her ever since she was a little girl: "Pansy, dear, see that boy across the room? One day, you're going to marry him." Pansy vowed to find out who this girl was. Gritting her teeth, she stalked out of the store, her heart broken and her fists clenched so hard that her nails dug little crescent moons into her skin.

He just couldn't see right now, she told herself. He thought he still had time to find the right girl, but what he didn't realize was that Pansy _was _the right girl for him. She was the only one who had stayed constant throughout his life. Only she had the stomach to put up with his childish attitude and assorted bullshit. And at the end of the day, she was all he'd ever have.

This was her life, and she _was _going to get her happy ending.

* * *

There she was.

It was 9:14 PM. After work, Draco had gone home immediately, chatted with his father, washed up, and eaten dinner. Then he had Apparated to the small forest near Nott Mansion. He'd gotten there over an hour ago, but for some reason, he'd stood alone in the forest, unable to move. He just couldn't do it, he thought. But after taking some more time to work up his nerve, he'd walked to the playground where he'd seen her the night before, and sure enough, there she was.

She didn't look up—not at first. She didn't have a book with her this time; she simply sat on the swings, her hands grasping the metal chains that upheld her, her ankles crossed and her toes skimming the woodchips beneath her. Though her back was turned to him, Draco could tell that her eyes were downcast, looking just past the tips of her shoes.

He stood there watching her for almost a full minute. Draco had a panicked thought that perhaps his breathing was too loud. She looked so peaceful sitting there, yet at the same time, she looked troubled. Draco had just made the conscious decision that he was going to speak to her, right then, when she beat him to it:

"I know you're there," she said without looking up. She didn't turn around.

He walked towards her in slow motion, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He struggled to remember why he was here. Merlin's beard, he felt like some sort of stalker.

Draco cleared his throat. "I…er, just wanted to bring up my behavior earlier today," he explained uncomfortably, feeling a bit strange to be talking to the back of her head. "It wasn't right of me, and I'd like to…I'd like to make it right."

"No, thank you," said Hermione shortly.

He was still staring at the back of her bushy head. "Er, alright," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. Something told Draco not to move, though, so his feet stayed put.

For good reason, too—slowly, Hermione finally turned around to face him. Her eyes were puffy and red, as if she'd been crying, but her voice resonated with crystalline clarity.

"There's nothing wrong with being alone, Malfoy," she practically spat, repeating his words mockingly. "You taught me that. I tried to be civil, all I wanted was to _understand_, but you couldn't even allow that. I don't understand you; I'll never understand you or anyone else like you. You're still caught up in all of this House rivalry tosh…can't you realize that Hogwarts is over, and that it's alright to associate with a Gryffindor? We're just _people_ now, Malfoy."

"This isn't about Houses," snapped Draco. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Granger. There's a reason I act the way I do. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"I will psychoanalyze you all that I want if you've given me a reason to," Hermione insisted sharply, her eyes completely dry by this point. Her mouth had set in a thin line again, and Draco was almost intimidated. "You're rude, conceited, and above all, cowardly. And if your _reason_ for acting like such a prick is because you're a high and mighty Pureblood, I'd hate to be the one to inform you that _that _particular reason does not, in fact, count."

He said nothing. How dare she assume she knew him? She knew absolutely nothing of the horrors he'd witnessed.

She scoffed at his speechlessness and continued. "You're scared of everything, Malfoy. You're scared to not to be scared anymore, and that, quite honestly, disgusts me."

Draco had no response for a moment. He wasn't sure what to do in this particular situation—her little tirade had shocked him. This was certainly the basis for a very entertaining argument, but for some reason, Draco wasn't even sure that he wanted to argue with Granger right now. He felt a sick need to apologize again, but once was more than enough for a Malfoy. No one had ever talked to him like that before. She seemed to notice him staring at her.

"I wasn't crying because of you, Malfoy."

He snapped out of his thoughts and met her eyes again; they were like fire. "I know," he said.

Draco just felt so off, so wrong, so uncomfortably new. He wasn't supposed to be here talking to Granger; she wasn't supposed to be here talking to him. Yet somehow, he couldn't help feeling terrible about leaving her alone in the restaurant. He knew that it would bother him to no end if he didn't apologize for his actions. The words tumbled from his lips before he even had a chance to stop them. Not an apology, but more of an explanation.

"I'm tired of being alone, Granger."

She breathed in deeply and angrily and responded coldly, "I think we all are, Malfoy."

They endured each other's presence with cold, discomfited silence, until finally Draco thought he was going to go insane from the stillness surrounding them. He could do this, this was simple, all he had to do was ask Granger to meet with him so that they could, as she had previously wished, talk about their impromptu conversation those few nights ago. It wasn't a big deal, Draco told himself. He just had to open his mouth and…and ask.

So he did.

"Granger," he coughed. "I…"

"You what?" She quirked an eyebrow upward, almost as if challenging him.

"I get hungry," Draco blurted, and the confession was so horrifically stupid that instead of backtracking and starting over, he could only continue on the path of embarrassment. "Er, I like spaghetti. And my, er…my house-elf doesn't make it too often."

Hermione only stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in subdued shock. But she nodded at him, and he nodded back, and between them something was understood.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, examining him with sudden curiosity. She even stood up from her spot on the swings and took a few cautious steps towards him, though they were still separated by several feet between them. She had an expression on her face as if she wanted to say something in response, but she was unable to form the words.

Draco didn't know what else to say either, so he merely lifted a hand in farewell and began walking away, his brisk footsteps echoing loudly against the evening silence. "Goodnight," he called out into the darkness. His gaze lingered just long enough to see Hermione hesitantly raise her own hand in farewell, her peach skin vibrant against the starry backdrop.

There was no answer, and Draco wondered vaguely if he'd ever see her again. But instead of looking behind him once more as he inexplicably wanted to, he solely shut his eyes, turned on his heel, and Disapparated with a loud _CRACK_.

* * *

It was 1:42 AM according to his wristwatch. He'd been awake for much too long. The bottle of sleeping potion he'd taken from his father last night was on his nightstand, but for some reason he didn't feel like sleeping just yet. Draco was so tired that his eyes burned and his temples throbbed, but he knew that even if he laid down and shut his eyes, he would never be able to sleep. Even if he drank the entire contents of the potion bottle on his nightstand and slept for hours, he'd just wake up the next morning with a head full of thoughts…thoughts that he was trying to get rid of now.

And that was why he couldn't, wouldn't sleep.

Draco sat alone in his room on the edge of his dark green quilted covers, staring intently at the picture of his mother sitting on his writing desk. The picture had been taken years ago, Draco estimated around his second year, perhaps. Narcissa was sitting in their library, rested upon her favorite couch, reading. Her long blonde hair fell into her eyes now and then, but her photographic replica merely swept it out of her eyes again, sometimes taking the time to tuck it behind her ear. Every once in a while she would glance upward at the camera and flash Draco a smile.

Draco tried desperately to understand.

Malfoys didn't just lose their composure. And so far, he'd lost his composure a multitude of times. And it was all strangely because of _her_. Because of Granger.

Stupid Granger.

He just didn't _get_ it. Hadn't he promised himself he would avoid all further human interaction possible, from now until the end of time? It had been so easy for the past five months. He'd gone to work, kept to himself, come home, kept to himself, and occasionally engaged in a small conversation with his father. It was so simple and so brilliant, he thought. And necessary, of course. After what had happened with Crabbe, Draco just didn't feel very comfortable talking to anyone.

He felt that everyone knew what had happened with Crabbe…everyone. And they probably did, come to think of it; after all, hadn't Potter given an exclusive interview in the _Evening Prophet_ right after the war? Draco hadn't read the article—he'd been incapable of doing so. But he was sure that there were at least a few paragraphs detailing Potter's grand chase around the Room of Requirement, Crabbe's horribly successful attempt at Fiendfyre, and the terrible fate that awaited him.

He kept losing people. First Crabbe. Draco had been around death before, but to see it so firsthand, to be _blamed_ for it…

There was Dumbledore…Draco shuddered as he remembered the terrible things he'd done that year. Katie Bell, though he hadn't known her, had shocked Draco when she landed in St. Mungo's because of his ill-planned murder attempt. He'd nearly killed Ron Weasley, and Slughorn and Potter for that matter. He'd even almost killed Albus Dumbledore…he'd held that wand in his hand, hadn't he? He'd pointed it at his Headmaster…he'd almost done it…

Then there was his mother. Had he played a part in her death as well?

It just wasn't right; Draco shouldn't be allowed to associate with people; he'd proven in the past that he'd only ruin things.

Yes, Draco was better off keeping to himself.

But then all of a sudden _she'd _shown up, and she'd shot it all to pieces. She'd shown up, said all of three words to him, and all of a sudden he was off having conversations with Theodore Nott and meeting up with Granger for spaghetti and meatballs, he was off looking for her in the middle of the night in deserted playgrounds, he was stumbling over words, telling her that she _smelled nice_…

It scared him, in all simplicity. It scared him to think that Granger could just appear in his life and make him question everything he'd grown to understand. Because if she could do it…if she could do that as someone who meant very little to him, maybe that meant that Draco was weaker than he himself thought.

No, no, Draco Malfoy did not get it at all. And perhaps he never would.


	6. And If My Greatest Fear

**Author's Note: **You've no idea how strange it is to be posting Chapter Five for you all when I so desperately want to share the one I've just written! Draco and Hermione are making very slow progress, aren't they? But don't worry, the pace will quicken. :) Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**_And If My Greatest Fear_

_"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."  
- Betrand Russell _

**

* * *

**

"Where were you last night?" his father's voice cut through the air, and Draco stiffened. It was Thursday, so Draco did not work, and thus he was instead meticulously rearranging his tie collection first by color, then by function (Self-Tying, Self-Cleaning, and even a few bewitched with an Eloquence Charm that rendered the wearer admirably articulate). Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway of his son's room, looking altogether peaceful yet slightly suspicious.

_Just go mad, _urged Draco silently. _You're halfway there already_.

"Well?" belabored the older Malfoy.

"I don't—"

"Last night," clarified Lucius. "And the night before that, as well. You missed dinner."

"Worked late," mumbled Draco. "I'm nineteen, father, I can decide for myself when I come home."

Had Draco possessed the guts to look his father in the eyes, he would have seen Lucius's nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger. But Draco just kept his eyes on his neckties.

"Can you, now?" demanded Lucius. "If you recall, son, you've not a Knut to your name, and it is _my_ fortune that keeps you off the streets and in fine living conditions."

He was right, of course, and Draco knew this. He placed his forest green tie next to his jade one, and then he turned to face his father. It was silly for him to still fear Lucius Hyperion Malfoy when he was housebound and could not even leave the house to buy his own coffee, cream and sugar. And Draco saw that his father was going, too—he realized, certainly, that his father was going madder by the day. Draco supposed that the two Malfoys depended on each other, now.

"With all due respect," Draco stated carefully, "you've got to give me at least a little freedom, Father."

Lucius paused in the doorway for half a second before striding into his son's room, his black robes billowing behind him like smoke. Draco noticed that his father's robes were not as clean as they usually were, and he suspected that he'd been wearing the same ones for several days straight already. This was how Draco _knew_ that Lucius was going mad. No self-respecting Malfoy ever wore the same robes twice in a row, not unless they were properly cleaned and pressed beforehand.

Lucius sat down on the bed and looked at Draco. Draco looked back at him. The act of sitting while Draco remained standing signified his father's growing emotional weakness; it was an act of surrender and twisted apology. Here, right now, Lucius had given Draco the upper hand.

"Draco." Lucius's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"…yes?"

"I'll be upfront about this," he promised. "I've…lost my touch." He sighed, the Draco could see that his usually immaculate ponytail tied at the nape of his neck was not so; a few strands of his white-blond hair were hanging lank in front of his eyes, and they only intensified the image of defeat evident in him. "I've bought myself enough time by convincing Shacklebolt to allow me this house arrest. Hell, Draco, I even think Potter might have helped me convince him. The fact remains that one day soon, I won't be here anymore."

Draco placed his black silk tie on top of another black silk tie with grey stripes.

"Things have been difficult," confessed Lucius, "since your mother left."

He'd never said 'died,' Draco noticed. And it was true, Narcissa had technically left first. He felt that his father almost ignored the thought of his mother passing away, like perhaps she was still alive and simply elsewhere.

Then Lucius did something astonishingly startling. He got up from the bed, walked steadily over to his son, and cuffed him on the shoulder. But it wasn't like other times, when he'd roughly knock Draco with such great vertical force that his knees would buckle, all because Draco had performed poorly on an exam or lost another Quidditch match; no, this time Lucius clouted his son on the shoulder firmly but gently, like a father. Lucius had always been supportive of Draco, but more in a forceful, moderately threatening way, never in…well, never in _this_ way.

_Yep_, Draco thought. _Completely blooming mad._

"There's isn't a single night I've slept when I haven't dreamt of your mother and wished she were still here," he admitted, bowing his head just a fraction of an inch. "I could easily take some Dreamless Sleep potion, but the thought of seeing her, even just a fabrication of her…it's all I have. Remember, Draco, that dreams only have one owner at a time."

Lucius walked over to the door. "That's why dreamers are so lonely," he elaborated. "So just…let me know if you're ever running late again, alright?"

Draco nodded and watched in silence as his father left his bedroom. Lucius turned left outside, and Draco deduced that he was heading to the library. He was always there now; if he wasn't stalking the halls of Malfoy Manor or chatting with Draco or eating a meal, he was reading. Narcissa had loved to read. She had kept her favorite books on a special shelf of her own in her favorite corner of the library. She had read Muggle books as well… Lucius had not been very ecstatic about that, but he'd tried to be accepting, even tried to understand. It was a task that eventually proved impossible for him.

So his father was just lonely, concluded Draco aptly. And he, Draco, was alone. Lucius was just trying to reach out for him, he decided. Draco knew that he and his father had always lacked the usually congenital paternal bond that he'd seen so many other children have with their fathers, but Draco, while he realized Lucius was different than most, could not deny that his father cared for him deeply. What other explanation was there for the coarse way that Lucius had commanded Draco to stay hidden in the trees that summer during the Quidditch World Cup while he had gone to lead a Death Eater march? Or the way that he, previously so obsessed with Voldemort's return to power and defeat of Harry Potter, had completely and abruptly abandoned his master during the Final Battle just to search for Draco?

"Merlin's Beard," muttered Draco, still rummaging through his drawers. "How many ties do I _have_?"

He grabbed a fistful and tossed them all on his dresser, scattering them lightly about so that he could sort them properly. He glanced upwards and caught sight of his reflection, and only after seeing the dark bluish circles under his eyes and his pallid skin did he realize how pathetic he was. His reflection apparently agreed:

"Well, here you are, my dear," it clucked, "Nineteen years old and floundering."

Draco chuckled darkly. Floundering was the perfect word for it. Draco was struggling, gasping for breath, unsure of where to head next…because no matter where he headed, he figured it would be halfway pointless. Bitterness and tragedy plagued what was left of the Malfoy line; would it ever stop?

He and his father were the epitome of loneliness and being alone. Now if only Draco could figure out the difference between the two.

* * *

"And then she _what_? She asked you to marry her?"

Draco scowled at Theo, wielded his knife, and cut open the cardboard box in front of him that held copies of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_. "Yes, Theo," he said for the twelfth time. "Indirectly, but yes."

Theo roared with laughter, then leaned on the counter of Flourish and Blotts and shook his head fondly. "That Pansy," he chuckled. "At least she knows what she wants."

"I just wish she didn't want _me_."

"It wouldn't be so bad," insisted Theo. "Honestly, you'd just have to marry her for the vault access; you could cheat on her all you want and she'd never be able to say anything."

"Still not going to marry Pansy."

"Just close your eyes during the ceremony, don't be a prat, you're not going to do much better."

Draco shot Theo a dirty look.

"What?" said Theo defensively, his hands in the air. "I'd do her in the dark."

"I am still astounded that you told her I worked here. Honestly, if you hadn't gone shooting your mouth off for a couple of Galleons, she'd never have found me."

"If your plan was to go undetected by Pansy," smirked Theo, "a bookstore was a brilliant choice. I actually had to give her directions to this place…"

"I just"—Draco felt stupid saying this in front of Theo—"wanted more in a wife, I reckon." He sloppily arranged some books on the shelves. "Naturally I've envisioned myself with Pansy before; it's absolutely revolting."

"Why's that?" Theo wanted to know.

Draco rolled his eyes as he thought back to his Hogwarts days. "She emits this aura of desperation. Seriously, try talking to her sometime. Hogwarts was fine, but the rest of my life? No, thank you. Her blood is the only thing she's got in her favor."

"I feel like your father telling you this," said Theo, his voice a bit quieter than it had just been. "But he isn't going to be around forever to withdraw from the account and hand you what you need. One day, Draco, you're going to be all alone, and if you're still not married by then, you're also going to be broke."

Draco almost laughed at the possibility of being broke. Why, right at this very moment, Draco had just over two thousand galleons locked in a safe inside his room, just in case he was ever in need of gold but didn't feel like going all the way to Gringotts. Even if his father died tomorrow and left Draco with an inaccessible vault, Draco would still have enough money to last him at least one year. At _least_.

He told Theo all this, and Theo only shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

Draco had been talking to Theo more and more lately. Ever since that night when Draco had stopped by Nott Mansion, the two old housemates had been consistent in their conversation. It wasn't so bad, Draco decided. Human interaction could be beneficial; in moderate amounts, of course.

It had been possibly over a week since Draco had last seen Granger _or _Pansy, and he was feeling pretty good about it. Though he supposed, if he really thought about it, he wondered why Granger hadn't come looking for him yet. He'd been by the park a few times after visiting Theo and hadn't seen her there. He was far from worried, of course, as she was only Granger…but still, Draco had always been a bit curious.

"Take a look at the clock." Theo's voice snapped Draco out of his reverie.

It was five o'clock. Theo grinned at Draco's relieved expression. His shift was finally over. Draco strode over to Cyrus's office, informed him of his leave and watched as his timecard punched itself out at the sound of his voice. Cyrus waved brightly to his favorite worker, and Draco hastily grabbed his cloak and rushed out the door.

"Only you would wear a cloak in the summer," remarked Theo as the two walked outside onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

Not this again. Draco raised his brows. "Without a cloak, a properly dressed wizard is no longer properly dressed."

"Draco, it's one hundred and five degrees in the shade!"

"Irrelevant. Besides, Malfoys don't perspire."

Theo had to laugh, and Draco gripped his friend's arm firmly and turned swiftly on his heel, Apparating the two of them to the forest by Nott Mansion. He welcomed the unpleasant sensation that came with Apparation; things like pain and discomfort were annoying, certainly, but they helped remind Draco that he was still alive.

Theo and Draco appeared in the forest, and Draco mentally hexed himself when he realized that his eyes had immediately jumped to the particular swing set on the playground not too far away. He hexed himself again when he realized that Granger was there, and once more when he found himself wishing he were there, too.

"I have to show you this new thing I came across," said Theo, breaking free from the trees and stepping out into the sunshine. Draco followed. "They're called cigarettes," Theo elaborated. "A Muggle thing, sort of like a pipe, except you throw it out after."

"Disposable pipes?" Draco thought it sounded stupid.

Theo said nothing, merely grinned and took out a small cardboard carton from the pocket of his robes. He shook the box lightly in front of Draco's face, then pocketed them again.

"I actually have to go home soon," Draco found himself saying. He wasn't sure why he'd said it, because it was nowhere near true. He'd already told his father that he'd be going to Theo's after work; it was around five now, and Draco didn't have to be home until seven. It wasn't as if he didn't want to try out this odd Muggle contraption…well, alright, that _was _part of it. But mostly he wanted to talk to someone…

Theo scowled good-naturedly at his excuse. "Figured. See you tomorrow." And with that Theo patted Draco on the back in an almost sad sort of way, as if he felt a little sorry for him, and took off in the other direction towards the ominous mansion in the distance. Draco was left standing there, halfway between the forest and the Mansion.

And right in front of the playground.

Draco turned his head slightly to the side. She sat there, watching him.

"Weren't you going to say hello?" challenged Draco, taking in the image before him. She was sitting on the swings, an unidentified book laid open in her lap, one hand holding the book in place and the other lightly gripping the metal chain of the swing set. She said nothing for a while and simply studied him. Finally she spoke.

"No, I wasn't," she admitted.

"You haven't been here lately," he observed.

Hermione didn't answer at first and instead turned to the next page of her book. "That's not true," she corrected him. "I've been here almost every evening. I've just come at specific times so as to avoid you."

"Are you saying you've memorized my schedule?"

"I'm saying that you don't know mine. I usually come here around four in the morning, Malfoy."

He stopped short as he realized that he could never fall asleep until precisely that time of night. Did it mean something? Of course not, he thought to himself. Let's not be stupid.

Draco cleared his throat. "If you don't mind my asking," he began, and Granger seemed to nod her head slightly as if allowing him to continue, "why at four in the morning?"

This, apparently, had been the wrong question to ask. He watched her head fall, her curls tumble and she hung her head in…in what? Shame? Despair? Embarrassment? The knuckles on her hand clutching the metal chain were white. Slowly, she lifted her head, and Draco could see that her eyes were shining.

"Why…why at four?" he repeated, because he didn't know what else to say.

"That's when I remember the most," she answered. Her voice was surprisingly powerful despite the defeated look in her eyes. Draco wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, but he could only guess that it had to do with the war. And he could relate.

"I hate remembering, too." He didn't recognize his own voice. He didn't register that his feet were moving of their own accord, that they were making their way over to the swing right next to Granger. It wasn't until he'd finally sat down that he looked at his surroundings in alarm. Hermione sat next to him, a confused look on her face.

With a little sigh, Draco shrugged in her direction and looked straight ahead through the trees. Hermione turned and refocused her gaze into the distance as well.

Silence followed, and though it was far from a comfortable silence, it certainly wasn't an awkward one. In that instant, they were certainly not friends; yet somehow, they were no longer enemies. In fact, Draco almost forgot that they had ever been. He quickly glanced over at Granger; she was reading her book again.

They sat there for hours, not saying anything else to each other, until Draco had to go home. When he realized his watch read as 6:56, he politely stood up, nodded in Granger's direction, and began walking away towards the forest.

He stopped only to say one thing: "I'll see you, Granger." But Hermione suspected there had been something else he'd wanted to say. Hermione continued to sit, staring in his general direction until she saw him disappear with a _CRACK _into thin air. She pondered for just a little while. Had anyone asked, she would have denied the smile etched upon her face.

Maybe there was some good in him after all.


	7. Paints Itself So Crystal Clear

**Author's Note: **Hi, all! I wasn't going to post this chapter for at least a few more days, but I got so many reviews that I decided to post early :) Thanks guys! As always, I'd love to hear any thoughts you have, especially any speculations about Pansy and how the rest of the fic is going to turn out. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Six  
**_Paints Itself So Crystal Clear_

* * *

Hermione stirred her coffee idly, trying to pay attention as Ginny rambled on about her Healer training and all of the classes she had to take and the potions and spells she was expected to memorize. Usually Hermione was absolutely riveted by Ginny's stories; she found the subject of Wizarding mecidine fascinating and listened soundlessly, asking loads of questions. But today, Ginny's explanation of the fundamentals of concocting a simple Pepperup Potion and its philosophies could not hold Hermione's attention. She felt terrible for being rude, but as much as she tried to pay attention, she couldn't do it—she simply had other things on her mind.

"…we're still perfecting it, naturally," continued Ginny with a wave of her hand. "We're trying to get rid of that pesky side effect…no one wants steam coming out their ears…"

She glanced over at Hermione, whose eyes were fixed on her coffee mug. "Hermione?" Ginny asked in a worried tone. "You haven't asked me a single question since we got here."

"I—what?" Hermione snapped back to attention and looked at her friend. "Oh, I'm so sorry Ginny, I've just had a lot to think about lately."

"Nothing bad, I hope?"

"Oh, not at all," Hermione reassured her quickly. She dumped another spoonful of sugar into her coffee and stirred. Ginny, meanwhile, was drinking a glass of iced dandelion tea. Days like this happened once in a blue moon—when Ginny would find the slightest bit of free time in her hectic schedule and set a date with Hermione to catch up on things. Ginny's rigorous Healer training took up much of her time, especially since she eventually wanted to become a Mediwitch. Hermione was thankful for Ginny, and felt slightly bad that the youngest Weasley had to divide her scarce free time among her family, Hermione, and Harry. It truly was an incredible feat.

"Hermione," Ginny began, giving her a knowing look. "I've known you for eight years. You can tell me what's bothering you. Is it something at work?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Then, what?" asked Ginny.

"I was just wondering," Hermione said hesitantly, "if people ever change."

Ginny sat back in her chair and grinned. "'Course they do, Hermione," she said. "No one stays the same forever."

Hermione smiled back; it seemed like a silly question when Ginny put it like that. "It's just so strange to me that someone I once regarded as a nasty piece of bigot scum may have changed and isn't so bad after all."

"Hm?" Ginny glanced up from her cup of tea. "Yes, I agree. Wait, who are we discussing?"

"No one," said Hermione quickly, and sipped her coffee.

But when Ginny looked away, Hermione smiled to herself.

* * *

"Theodore, you need to _help _me."

Pansy's eyes were desperate as she paced back and forth across the carpeted floor of Theodore Nott's bedroom. Theo shrugged; he was lying on his four-poster bed, tossing a miniature collector's Quaffle into the air and catching it right before it hit him in the nose.

"I dunno, Pansy," he said. "I mean, I did what you asked, I told you where he was. And he still doesn't want you. Maybe just leave him be."

"He's mental!" she insisted, waving her hands in the air dramatically. "He's in love with me, he's just forgotten! Theo, can't you remind him?"

The boy snickered. "I don't think his memory is the issue, Pansy."

She heaved a heavy sigh and sat down on the bed next to Theo. "I just don't know," she whimpered, looking at him with her saddest expression. "What we had was just so…so _perfect_…"

"Look," said Theo a bit impatiently. "Draco's not going to come around unless he has to. In the meantime, why don't you go to France and accept that modeling contract you've kept telling me about?"

Pansy glared at him. "If you were listening, Theo, they still need to reply to my owl application."

"I still can't believe you're getting a _job_."

"Yes, well," Pansy said bitterly, "my father said it's either a job or a husband. And Draco is making the latter extremely difficult."

The young wizard lying on the bed seemed to be paying very little attention. "He said he was…he said he was _seeing _someone," whined Pansy. "Who is it, Theo?"

He actually laughed out loud. "No one," he told her. "I'm sure of it. Draco hasn't dated anyone since you. He's completely alone." Theo suddenly sat up and scooted over next to Pansy. "Oi," he exclaimed, suddenly struck with a thought, "I know _loads _of eligible wizards in France – friends and relatives of my girlfriend, Sophie. French wizards are always dying for fresh meat. You get over there, I'll have you engaged within the month."

She stuck out her tongue in distaste. "You're making them sound like savage werewolves," she scowled.

"That's what they are, more or less," admitted Theo nonchalantly. "Are you in or not?"

Pansy let out a fake sob and threw her arms around Theodore, burying her head in his shoulder. "Oh, Theo," she sniveled. "Why can't I just marry _you_?"

He shushed her, almost a bit impatiently, and when she drew back in hurt he pulled her closer and kissed her roughly on the mouth. He even patted her on the shoulder. "Pansy," he said. "You know why I can't marry you."

She said nothing.

"I mean, you're a whole lot of fun, really"—he wrapped an arm around her waist—"but you're not the type Theodore Nott _marries_."

Pansy continued to remain silent, but she tightened her arms around Theo in understanding. "I'm not a slut, you know," she said firmly. "I'm only with you because I miss Draco."

Theo shrugged like he couldn't care less. His attention was already focused on other things. "That's great, Pansy. I'm only with you because there's nothing stopping me."

"Theo." Pansy sat upright all of a sudden; Theo snapped back to attention. "Theo, you will assist me in obtaining Draco Malfoy at all costs."

"Look, I tried, I've told you a hundred times," growled Theo. "I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, Draco's supposed to be my best mate. You think I'll sleep easy at night knowing I've left him with you for all eternity?"

Her death glare could have halted an entire Quidditch team flying at full speed.

"You'll help me," she repeated dangerously.

"You're bloody mad," said Theo, but he'd have been lying if he'd said he wasn't scared of what plan was hatching inside that witch's head. He knew that when Pansy started on a quest for something, she would not cease until she obtained whatever she it was she was seeking. All Theo could do, he figured, was to sit back, watch, and hope she didn't drag him into this _again_.

* * *

It was 3:59 AM.

Hermione was sitting alone on the swings, but she was absolutely certain that in less than a minute, someone else would join her. She couldn't explain how she knew this. It was just a feeling she had.

She hadn't even brought a book with her tonight.

Somehow she felt like she knew his character already. When she'd told him that she often frequented this particular playground at four in the morning, he'd taken it as a challenge—she could tell. And in all honestly, Hermione herself would have taken it as a challenge and an invitation had she been in the same situation.

So she sat on the swings and she waited. Twenty seconds later, her purse chimed four times to signal the arrival of four o'clock, just as she'd Charmed it to do.

Somewhere off in the distance, Hermione heard a muted _CRACK_. Then footsteps. Though it was dark outside, Hermione could still make out the faint outline of a human figure; his pale blond hair could have rivaled the moonlight.

Draco Malfoy stepped out from the shadows and made his way across the playground. He didn't sit on the swings this time and instead chose a spot leaning against tall metal slide. Not even acknowledging her, he looked up towards the sky.

Hermione broke the silence first. "Good evening, Malfoy."

He turned at met her eyes, scowling. "I couldn't sleep, that's all." His voice was slightly hard and defensive, as if he were trying to hide his emotions.

"Don't you have work soon?" she remarked, genuinely curious.

Draco nodded. "At nine."

Hermione truly found it strange how there were always two different sides to Malfoy. He could be rude, temperamental and infuriatingly childish…yet she'd seen times when he was borderline polite, pensive, endearingly graceless and simply lonely.

"Won't you be tired?" she asked.

"No."

And just like that the conversation faded, and Draco raised his eyes to the stars again as if he were searching for something. Hermione suddenly had a desperate wish that she'd in fact brought something to read after all. Instead, her gaze fixed itself on her fingernails. A sudden summer breeze floated through the air; from the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Draco's long black cloak flutter in the small wind.

His grey eyes once again focused on her.

"You said you come here a lot, Granger."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I said that I'm here all the time. It's a good place to think."

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, not in anger but merely as a means of getting a better look at her from the distance between which they were separated. "What is it, Granger? What is it about this place that makes it so perfect?"

It didn't make any sense, but she knew exactly what he meant.

He continued: "There's something about this place that gets me to _talk_. Like nothing else can. I seriously hadn't talked to anyone in four months until you came along and brought me to this place. It's got a sort of magic, I swear to you."

She said nothing.

"What _are _you thinking about, Granger?"

"What else?" she asked bitterly, her voice like acid, though the harshness for once was not directed towards Draco. "The same thing everyone else seems to have forgotten. Except for you."

Draco's face remained blank, but Hermione studied him knowingly and continued. "Yes, you, Malfoy. I see it in you. You—you've got a lot of thoughts about the war, don't you?"

"No," he said bitterly, trying to avoid the subject. "No, I don't."

She didn't believe him in the slightest.

"How often do you come here?" Draco wanted to know.

"I do come here a lot, nearly every night," Hermione admitted. "It's relaxing here at night, even all on my own. Ron, you remember him, he's a bit up north training for Quidditch, so I don't really see him anymore. Harry's great, though, he offers to have dinner at least once a week, but he's usually busy with Auror training and Ministry work, so I try not to bother him…and Ginny, what would I do without her? But she's only just finished Hogwarts a year ago, and she's thinking about becoming a Healer, so she'll need training for that too."

"So everyone's busy with their jobs except for you, Granger? Who would have thought?"

"Stuff it, you," Hermione said quietly, her voice biting.

"Really, though," said Draco. "Don't you have a job?"

Hermione sniffed indignantly. "Of course I have a job, Malfoy. I work in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Improper Use of Magic Office. Have since graduation."

Her voice trailed off, and Draco sensed that there was a tone of disappointment to her voice, as if she didn't particularly want to work in the Ministry after all. Sure enough, she continued, "It's only temporary though; I think I'll quit in a year or two and do something on my own."

"Clock's ticking," said Draco.

"I suppose not all of us can have such venerable careers as you do, Malfoy." The sarcasm was practically dripping from her words.

He blanched. "My occupation is none of your concern."

"It is when you're belittling mine," commented Hermione.

Draco shook his head indignantly and stared her straight in the eyes. "For your information, I'm planning to buy Flourish and Blotts. And I have enough gold to never work again." Draco was positive he'd never buy Flourish and Blotts. But somehow the words slipped out.

She fell silent.

"How is the Ministry, anyway?" wondered Draco. "Is it an interesting job at least?"

Hermione hesitated for a split second. _Say it_, she urged herself.

"To be honest, it reminds me of the war a lot."

There. She'd said it. The truth that had been hiding within her for so long had finally been spoken. Hermione carefully watched his expression change—his previously blank face suddenly hardened, his jaw set, and she swore that if she strained her ears hard enough, she could hear his heart breaking. So he _did _have thoughts about the war.

She knew if anyone understood, it'd be him.

Hermione continued. "Every day," she said slowly, "I walk through the halls of the office and I see people I know. Like…like Percy, or Minister Shacklebolt, or all these people I knew from Hogwarts or the Order, and I just—I remember."

Draco said nothing, but he was clutching the metal railing alongside the slide for support as he kept his eyes fixed on a particularly interesting piece of woodchip. His breathing was slightly uneven.

"It's a storm," Hermione confessed. "A storm in there. And I'm just trying to find peace."

"Then stop looking in all the wrong places," suggested Draco, his breathing suddenly steady again. "Law Enforcement? That's like trying to find a Galleon in Weasley's pocket."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in disapproval. "I'll have you know that Ron is doing quite well for himself, thank you. It seems that every owl I get from him details his latest victory against whichever Quidditch team. He's got quite a _few _Galleons."

"Now you've gone and ruined my joke, Granger," groaned Draco.

Her smile was so faint that if not for the moonlight, Draco would have missed it. Then all of a sudden her smile had vanished as quickly as it had come, and her eyes were once again veiled by sadness. She sat very stiffly, her ankles crossed, both hands gripping the metal chains of the swings. Her brown hair hung loose and fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were wet.

Draco's eyes widened. He had a feeling she was about to unleash years of pent-up feelings, and Draco was going to have to listen. She opened her mouth to speak, and Draco nearly flinched.

"We lost Colin," she little more than whispered, tearful memories brimming at her eyes. She kept her voice low for fear that if she spoke any louder she would be overwhelmed by the remembrance of her former friend and housemate. "Merlin, I never thought…"

Draco was entirely unprepared for this.

He decided not to mention the fact that he'd never noticed her being particularly close to the Creevey boy. Mostly everyone had found him a bit annoying, he'd thought.

"I was dueling Dolohov before," she explained softly, not looking at him. "But then I had to leave, Ginny and Luna needed help dueling Bellatrix Lestrange and…oh, I should have stayed…he was so young, Malfoy. We were never really close, but he was a sweet boy and I—I wasn't fast enough…"

He wasn't sure what to say, so he just remained quiet. But he tried to plaster on a sympathetic expression. Hermione didn't say anything more, but she looked down at the ground, her hands now folded in her lap.

Draco didn't even know he was speaking until he realized Hermione had glanced up to look at him. "You were there," he said, "when Crabbe was killed."

He paused as he thought back to that day. Crabbe had said that Draco and Lucius were finished; Crabbe had taken authority, he'd ruined everything, he'd destroyed everything. Draco and Goyle had almost died as well, if it weren't for Potter's inherent heroism. Draco still remembered the waves of Fiendfyre that had crashed down upon them, missing them by inches, gaining on them. Sometimes Draco would wake from his nightmares with images of dragons and chimeras bursting from the red-hot flames.

"You were there with me," he said again. "The Room of Requirement."

Hermione nodded slowly, almost apologetically. "Yes."

Draco's eyes traced the stars in his mind. "I'd known Crabbe for sixteen years."

That was all he could say, but it was enough. He stopped looking at the stars; his vision was too blurry now as they glazed over with tears that he would not spill for the life of him. He blinked once, and the tears disappeared.

Suddenly, he felt a warm sensation spreading through his fingertips. He looked down, and he saw that Granger had placed her hand comfortingly on top of his own. When he glanced at her in shock, she drew away. Her cheeks were bright pink.

"I told you this playground makes me talk," muttered Draco, not taking his eyes off her.

Hermione looked all around the playground, her eyes sweeping the scene in front of her. Draco's head was slightly bent, his face darkened under the shadow cast by the moon. He'd placed his hands in the pockets of his robes. Hermione had never realized how much Malfoy had grown since Hogwarts. His features had hardened, and the pointed chin that had once made him look like a frightened boy now made him look slightly imposing.

She sat back down on the swings. "I don't think the playground is making you talk, Malfoy. You are."

Draco looked at her with a disturbed and confused look on his face, as if he'd just realized something he didn't quite want to accept yet. "Or you are, Granger," he said.

He didn't really understand it, but as he looked at her and tried to comprehend her peaceful expression, the maelstrom of thoughts that had been raging in his mind since the night Crabbe died quieted for just a little while.


	8. Will I Run Away

**Author's Note: **I don't have much to say about this one…it's short and sweet, I suppose. My only regret is that I didn't make it longer, but every time I started to add more, I felt it detracted from the particular feeling of the scene. I did enjoy writing this chapter though, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much :)

I wasn't going to upload this for at least another day, but I couldn't help myself. I was going to wait until I'd completely finished the thirteenth chapter, but I realized that thirteen's going to be longer than I expected, so here you go :) There's no Pansy in this chapter, but she'll be around in the next one.

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
**_Will I Run Away_

"_In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."  
__- Aaron Rose_

* * *

The day he realized he didn't hate Granger anymore was a cloudy Wednesday.

Of course, he supposed he hadn't hated her for a while; if he had, why would he have felt bad about abandoning her at the restaurant? No, Draco had stopped hating her a long time ago…but he had never fully realized this until that very particular Wednesday.

Draco would still remember this day, even some years later. This particular Wednesday happened to fall towards the beginning of August. He'd woken up late that morning as the sunshine had not had a chance to stream through his self-drawing drapes as it usually did. This combined with the fact that he'd taken an extra swig of Sleeping Potion the night before left him nearly twenty minutes late for his shift.

He'd Apparated to work as usual. He'd unpacked boxes. He'd rung up orders. He'd helped a timid little first year locate _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. He'd wished customers a nice day. He hadn't even complained once, as he usually did when Cyrus reminded him yet again that books were not to be shelved using magic anymore, as sometimes the books would knock against each other in the air, tearing the pages.

By three o'clock, Draco was once again polishing his favorite spot of the front counter with his favorite rag. Overall, his day had been fairly ordinary. He should have known it was too good to last.

And sure enough, a happy little jingle from the front door told him all he needed to know. Granger was here. She walked over to his spot at the counter.

He hadn't seen her in nearly three days.

"Granger," he acknowledged, slightly taken aback by her unexpected presence.

She ignored his astonishment and folded her arms across her chest, a nervous smile dancing on her lips, relishing in his obvious discomfort. "Are you up for a playground visit, Malfoy?"

He lifted the rag in the air and answered, "Obviously not."

"It's alright," she answered. "I came to visit you, anyway. You haven't shown the past few nights. I figured since you've been paying me visits to the playground lately, I might as well return the favor."

"Entirely unnecessary."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "You're sure? Because you look _dreadfully _bored."

Draco scowled and tried to ignore her. It wasn't as if he didn't want to see her…in fact, he _was _slightly glad that she was here. Only slightly. But he had a job to do. And he felt that Granger, of all people in the world, should understand that he simply could not drop everything he had to do at any given moment just to keep the silly girl entertained. He told her all this, and she gave him an impatient expression.

"Oh alright, fine," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "But you're coming to the playground with me when your shift is over."

"I get off work at five today."

"Perfect!" she exclaimed, her face breaking out into a cheerfully lopsided grin. "Who knows, maybe you'll even get to see the playground in the daytime. Today just might be your lucky day, Malfoy."

"We won't know," muttered Malfoy, "until five o'clock."

Hermione's smirk could have rivaled his own. "I'll wait."

At that point, if anyone had asked him, Draco would still have said firmly that he most definitely still hated Hermione Granger.

She watched him work, making him grow increasingly uncomfortable in her presence, a fact she seemed to enjoy immensely. When he was working the register, he could feel Hermione's eyes on him, and he almost forgot that there were seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and almost gave the prissy witch at the counter four Galleons change instead of four Knuts. When he rearranged the displays, he could feel her scrutinizing gaze, and when he looked down he realized with a start that he'd placed the Death Omen textbooks erroneously in the Self-Help section.

He still hated her at this point, but he was halfway looking forward to the playground visit, though he wasn't sure why.

At four o'clock, Draco could hear Granger laughing with Mart from across the store, probably at something he'd just said. He watched as Hermione shook her hair back behind her as she giggled. Between spouts of laughter, Hermione caught Draco's eye and winked. Mart leaned closer, talking loudly; Draco frowned. Apparently the idiot had a lot more charm than he had initially let on.

At four-thirty, Draco opened another box of books, cutting open the cardboard with his knife. Glancing quickly at the title, one he'd seen many times, he carried the box over to the Quidditch section and began placing the copies onto the empty shelves.

Even years and years later, he would always remember that particular moment when Hermione had glided over to him, watching him work. He would always remember the way he'd looked at her questioningly, the way she'd shook her head disapprovingly but good-naturedly as she read the title, and the way she'd reached over, touched him gently on the wrist, and said, "You've shelved this wrong."

His hand stopped halfway to the bookshelf. His brilliant reply: "Er, what?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, how long have you been working here, exactly?" She grabbed the book he was holding and stacked the other ones one top of it until she had a giant stack of books up to her chin. "Grab the rest, would you?"

He complied, easily carrying the rest of the books in his arms; he'd had years of practice. "Is it too much to ask for you to tell me what in Merlin's name you're doing?" he mumbled, following her down the aisles.

She looked behind her only long enough to shoot him a death glare, then continued walking to the far end of the store until she reached a particular shelf labeled 'Famous Names.' She immediately set the books down on the floor beneath her and began placing them on the empty shelves one by one.

"Apparently Granger doesn't know as much about books as we all thought," smirked Draco, holding one of the books in his hand and examining it in amusement. "Or Quidditch." He closed the book and flashed the title at her: _Catching the Snitch_.

Hermione paid no attention and continued organizing the books along the shelves.

"Granger, did you not hear me? This is a book about Quidditch. Which is precisely why I placed it in the _Quidditch_ section."

"Do you even know how to read?" she wondered aloud, continuing on with her self-appointed task. Seeing Draco's confused expression, she paused for a brief minute and opened the book she was holding to the front page. "See," she sighed in exasperation. "This book is an autobiography by ex-Quidditch player and Auror Leander Lambert. Snitch has a double meaning; it refers to the snitch in the game, of course, but mostly to the Death Eater 'snitch' Lambert is famous for catching."

She seemed extremely pleased by his dumbfounded expression.

"Honestly," Hermione teased, "they really do hire anyone these days."

Draco frowned, grabbing the books from her and stuffing them onto the shelves by himself. "It hardly matters, Granger, I don't recall selling a single copy of these books in the two years I've worked here."

"Obviously not," she muttered dismissively under her breath. "You've been shelving them wrong."

It was sometime directly after she spoke those words that Draco realized he didn't hate her any longer, right then at 4:42, there in Flourish and Blotts on that very particular Wednesday.

* * *

"Good grief, Granger, is it always so damn _sunny_ outside at this time of day?" Draco complained, trying desperately to shield himself from the sun's rays with his arms. Hermione laughed at his efforts.

"It's called daytime for a reason, Malfoy."

"Teach me how to raise that one bloody eyebrow, Granger, every time you do it I go a little bit more mental inside."

Hermione shook her head fondly and continued leading the way towards the playground. It was half-past five; Draco had taken a little longer at Flourish and Blotts at the request of Cyrus, who had just received a large shipment of Self-Inking quills that he needed restocked. Luckily Draco was allowed to stock the quills with magic, but he still had needed to sort them all by color.

Hermione's face fell as she caught sight of the playground, but she smiled. "It seems someone's taken our swing set," she observed happily. Draco leaned past her brown curls and looked, and sure enough he saw a group of children occupying the playground. There were several mothers sitting on the bench close by. A small redheaded girl and a little boy with brown hair were on the swings, being pushed by two of their friends.

Draco then realized with a jolt of horror that Hermione had said _our swing set_. He wasn't entirely sure when they had become an _our_. He wasn't even friends with Granger. He didn't even _like _Granger…right?

Well, it was true that he no longer hated her. _But that means nothing!_ thought Draco frantically.

"Oh well," shrugged Hermione. "I suppose we can wait for them to leave, then. I've got cards in my bag. We could play Exploding Snap."

"Why don't we…" Draco looked around and spotted a bench a little further on. It was still close to the playground, but it was unoccupied. "Oi, we could sit there."

So the two…_acquaintances_…made their way over to the empty bench. Hermione sat down first, and Draco followed. The bench was directly facing the swing set, and there was an empty bicycle rack placed perpendicular to them. They remained silent for quite some while.

The sun beat down relentlessly, and Draco took out a handkerchief and dabbed a little at his forehead. He hadn't been here more than ten minutes and already the beads of sweat were starting to drip down. Hermione didn't seem to mind though, as she sat perfectly still on the bench, surveying the scene before her and smiling at the laughing children.

"Sorry I called you a Mudblood," Draco said suddenly, and he was completely oblivious as to what triggered the apology "In school."

She scoffed. "Please, that hardly bothered me."

"It didn't?" He was confused. "But—"

"Second year, Quidditch field," she said.

Draco nodded slowly. He had remembered everyone being extremely upset, including Granger. "Yeah, you were upset about it later, I know because Goyle told me, and Weasley tried to hex me…"

"I grew up with Muggle parents," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I didn't even know what it meant when you first said it to me. If I said you were _glupav_ right now, would you care?"

"What does that mean?"

She leaned in closer, a small and triumphant smile on her face. "Exactly."

Draco didn't believe her. He distinctly remembered it being an extremely huge deal. He'd called her by that name a few other times as well, and everyone else had been bothered by it…

"Of course it bothered me _then_," she admitted softly, like she'd read his mind, and Draco snapped out of his thoughts to listen. "When Hagrid first told me the meaning, I was…upset. But mostly at the time I was just confused. After a while I stopped letting it get to me."

She looked up, smiled, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, really. Hogwarts is over. Besides, how would you know if I've secretly been calling you _glupav_ behind your back for years? I haven't, but still."

"Is that really a word?"

"Yes. But how can it bother you if you don't know what it means?"

"Because there are a million things it _could _mean."

Hermione stifled a laugh and said, "For the record, it means stupid. It's Bulgarian. Viktor Krum used that word a lot when he was talking about Quidditch."

"Krum's pretty _glupav _himself," snickered Draco. "No offense," he added quickly, seeing the expression on Hermione's face. "I used to sit with him at meals when he was at Hogwarts for the tournament. A dimmer candle you will not find."

Hermione despite herself faintly nodded her agreement, smiling.

"Why'd you apologize to me?" she asked him.

"I don't know," said Draco tonelessly. The apology had just kind of slipped out.

Hermione looked at him, trying to figure him out. He wasn't the same boy from Hogwarts that she had known. But then again, Hogwarts was over.

"Would you like to get some spaghetti today?" she asked suddenly after a sudden burst of Gryffindor courage. "For dinner."

For some reason, Draco really wanted to say yes. He wanted to look at her and answer, "Yes, Granger, that sounds nice."

But he didn't.

Instead he said, "I'd like to, Granger, but I told my father I'd be dining with him tonight." This was, at least, true. But Draco did feel a little bad, especially when he looked at Granger and saw that the shine had dimmed a little in her eyes. He told himself he'd ask her to dinner some other time.

They sat on that bench for a little while longer, until finally Draco remarked that the sun didn't quite hurt his eyes so much anymore, and Hermione told him that was because the sun was setting. She pointed towards the playground; it was slowly emptying.

Draco and Hermione started walking towards the swings, but they stopped at the metal bike rack when Hermione suddenly paused and spoke, her words clear and cracked with pain.

"It was my fault."

The sun still beat down, but it was slowly setting over the playground. Tired mothers were herding their children toward their cool, air-conditioned houses, but Hermione and Draco remained, their hearts pounding loudly. Draco nodded at Hermione's words, knowing she was talking about Colin Creevey.

"It always is, isn't it?" he mused, and she knew it was true. Why did they survive? They were no better than anyone else.

_Why me?_ Draco thought. _Why did I live? _

"Why am I still alive?" Draco suddenly asked aloud, his question directed toward an endless sky. His voice was soft, as if afraid that Hermione was going to hear. She did anyway, but she knew not to say anything. It wasn't her question to answer.

_Why did I live… _There was another question in Draco's mind though, one that ate away at him each and every day without him realizing. He turned to look at Hermione the instant the question burst forth in his mind, finally unveiling itself. _Why do I still want to?_

He didn't need someone to tell him the answer.

He wasn't sure where to direct his eyes, so he settled them on his black leather shoes. "It was my fault, too. With Crabbe."

"Yeah," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah," said Draco. He was almost overcome by a sudden urge to grab her hand.

His hands grasped the metal bar of the bicycle rack instead. It felt cold beneath his fingertips.

"I mean, he set that fire," said Draco. "But he was just trying to prove himself to the Dark Lord, to me…maybe if I'd have been…I don't know, _nicer_…"

The bicycle rack suddenly felt very, very warm.

"You would think Crabbe meant a lot to me," sighed Draco, looking considerably downcast as he avoided eye contact. "But he didn't, not so much. Seven years we spent glued together, like brothers, but not really. Most of the time I thought he was a right pain in the arse, but…"

He shook his head. Hermione reached over and took his hands as her own. She tried to situate many things tacit with this action. A simple glance into his grey eyes was all it took for her to realize that he understood. Slowly, she let go.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and she was surprised at how natural it felt. The words escaped from her lips without her trying to form them; they felt natural too.

"You only liked him after he died, and that makes you feel guilty," Hermione whispered. She closed her eyes, and as soon as she did, she forgot she even spoke the words. She could have stayed here forever, leaning against him.

"Yeah," he said in relief, because she had grasped the truth better than he had. It had been two years since Crabbe's death, and it was the first time in those two years that he'd really understood the feeling that had lodged itself within his heart.

He felt guilty because he didn't like Crabbe while he was alive. So he tried to force himself to like his memory.

Draco tucked a stray strand of brown curl behind Hermione's ear, though the second after his arm dropped once more at his side, he'd forgotten he'd done it. But he continued looking at her in pleasant shock. She'd just answered a burning question he'd pondered for one-fifth of a decade in an instant.

"I…" Draco's voice trailed off.

"You what?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I don't hate you," said Draco on that particular Wednesday.

Hermione smiled and said, "That's unfortunate, Malfoy, because I still hate you. I mean honestly, you can't even shelve books."

But she placed her hand in his, and though he stiffened at her touch, he didn't pull away.


	9. Or Will I Hide

**Author's Note: **I know it's been a while. I'm actually a little behind schedule with my writing now, which makes me a little nervous...I've just finished the thirteenth chapter; it's the longest so far. However, now I'm one less chapter ahead, and that makes feel less confident about getting chapters out quickly! But we'll see what happens, I guess. I really do have the rest of the story planned out :]

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**Chapter Eight  
**_Or Will I Hide_

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**

"Theodore, I'm trying to tell you something important!" wailed Pansy. She was crying. Theo was sitting at his desk with a quill and parchment, scribbling furiously. Spots of ink were flying everywhere. One hit him in the nose.

"Can't it wait?" grumbled Theo, continuing to scratch out words. "I've got to finish this birthday letter to Sophie, or she will _flay_ me. She's already annoyed I can't Apparate out to see her."

Pansy's lips turned down into a pout. "You're writing to her again?" she howled angrily, walking over to where Theo was sitting and reading over his shoulder. "_My dearest Sophie, words cannot express my regret that I am unable to see you on your special day…_oh, gag me," mumbled Pansy in disgust.

"Of course I'm writing to her," said Theo calmly, not looking up from the parchment. "She's my girlfriend; you aren't."

"Theo, I'm _pregnant_," said Pansy.

He spared her a quick glance. "You don't look it."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I DON'T LOOK IT?" she shouted. She grabbed a pillow from his bed and hurled it at him; it sent the ink bottle flying, and the green ink spilled all over Theo's hands and robes.

"OI!" he shouted back, grabbing his wand and clearing the ink off himself. "THAT WAS A _COMPLIMENT_!"

"I am _trying _to tell you…Merlin, you can't even…you frustrate me so damn much, Theo Josiah Nott!"

"_SIT DOWN_!" Theo bellowed.

Pansy sat. Theo looked at her incredulously, breathing through his mouth. She sat rigidly on his bed, glaring at him.

"Alright," exhaled Theo. "_Alright_."

She shot him a dirty look. "Can I speak now?" she asked.

He spread his arms out in front of him slowly and sarcastically before sweeping into a low bow. "By all means, go ahead," he sneered.

"I'm pregnant."

"So you've mentioned." Theo rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Pansy, I can't go on fixing your problems forever. Alright, go on then, whose child is it?"

"Yours."

Theo suddenly paled. His eyes were desperate with worry and disbelief, and the smile that had been plastered across his face disappeared almost immediately. "It can't be," he said firmly.

"Who else's would it be?" demanded Pansy with narrowed eyes. "Of course it's yours."

He continued shaking his head fiercely, not even looking at her. He was pacing the room now, wringing his hands, not wanting to believe her. "Pansy, tell me this is a sick ploy to get me to marry you or something, tell me this isn't true."

She shook her head solemnly.

"We did it _once_," moaned Theo, burying his head in his hands. "_Once_."

"We did it three times, you prick, but once is all it takes, Nott," said Pansy bitterly, her voice a touch louder than it had just been moments before."I just came from St. Mungo's. It's…it's a girl."

"How long has it been?" he asked tonelessly.

"They said about two months."

"Well…what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she shot back harshly. "What do you _think_ I should do?"

"I reckon that's your choice," shrugged Theodore. The expression of nervousness had left his eyes, and he was sitting down at his desk again. "Though I'll warn you now, I'm staying with Sophie. You're not the kind of girl I'd leave everything for."

Pansy glared at him. "Abrasive as usual, Nott," she snarled. "If it eases your conscience, I made an appointment to have an abortion spell cast on me next week, but I'm not sure if I'm going to go."

"Go," said Theo simply.

She looked shocked at the swiftness of his suggestion.

"Think about it," said Theo. "With a baby, you'll never get married. Your only hope of getting married with a child on the way was with me, and I'm sure as hell not going to marry you. Plus, if you keep the baby _and _you're not married, your father will have you out on the street sooner than you can blink. And even if he doesn't, when the account is left to you you'll be unable to access it…unless you get married, which, as we've already covered, is impossible."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "You're right!" she gasped. "Theo, what do I _do_?"

"Keep the appointment," he said simply, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment from his desk drawer. "And try not to cry so much."

"I hate you," she spat, getting up from the bed where she'd been sitting.

"Obviously not," countered Theo smugly. "That's how you got into this mess in the first place."

* * *

The sun shone through the windows of Flourish and Blotts today as Draco paced up and down along the rows of bookshelves, his mind full of thoughts. He had been having these thoughts ever since that particular Wednesday. Draco Malfoy was not like most wizard boys. Absolutely not.

For one thing, he was smarter than the lot of them, in his opinion. He'd gotten top grades at Hogwarts, or he would have, had it not been for Granger. But at least among the male population, he'd been the best.

Another thing that set him apart was the extremely large Gringotts account in his name buried miles underneath London, guarded by a dragon and heaping with jewels, precious artifacts, and gold. The entire contents amounted to more than Draco and his great-great-great grandchildren would ever need in their lifetimes, and it was all his.

Or at least, it _would _be his. All he had to do for Lucius Malfoy to hand the key over to his son was get married. And just like that, it would all belong to him.

Draco was standing in Flourish and Blotts, watching Granger watch him work. As he looked at her, as he ran his eyes over her bushy brown hair and slender arms and curious smile, all he could think about was that fortune buried beneath his feet.

He thought back to that one Wednesday, the Wednesday when he'd realized that he didn't hate Granger, the same Wednesday when she'd held his hand and he'd let her, the same Wednesday they had watched the sunset and talking about their memories from the war, all because Draco didn't hate her anymore.

"Stare a little longer, why don't you?" she called to him. She was smiling. Draco immediately dropped his eyes down to the book he was holding.

He'd never forgive himself for falling for her.

As he pondered this, he suddenly remembered why he had hated Granger in the first place. She was a plan-ruiner, and as bitter and childish as the words sounded inside Draco's head, he stuck by them. Just when Draco might have actually followed his father's advice and asked out a lovely pureblooded witch from a nice family, _she'd _shown up. She'd _made _him fall for her.

As much as it pained Draco to admit, there was just something about Granger that made him hate himself a little bit less. There was something about her that kept him sane.

There was something about her that made Draco…_like _her. And he didn't like that at all.

Perhaps it was that biting, sarcastic way she ordered him around. Perhaps it was her flyaway hair, the book she always carried under her arm, or her crooked smile. Maybe it was the way she loathed him so intensely and saw him for who he truly was. She was never afraid to yell at him, to chastise him, to tell him to just stop it, would he, for the love of Merlin, because he was being a bloody idiot.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the way the moonbeams hit her hair just so every evening, or the amount of pain evident in her voice when she talked about the war, or the way her ankles always crossed when she sat on the swings.

Maybe it was the brush of her hand against his wrist, or the look in her eyes when she saw him, or the way that she never gave up on him, even when he finally put his foot down and said, "No, Granger, I simply do not have time to get spaghetti with you." Maybe it was the scent of raspberries and pine that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Maybe it was the way she visited him at work and expected nothing, merely walked around the store reading books, but smiled at Draco at moments when he most needed the encouragement.

Draco Malfoy was not supposed to _fall _for her.

He was supposed to find a pureblooded witch. He was supposed to take her out to dinner. He was supposed to ask for her hand in marriage. Then, only then, would Draco be able to claim the gold that was so rightfully his.

But now there was Granger, and Draco couldn't quite explain it, but he knew that right now there was no way he could just go and get married to just anyone. He wanted to get spaghetti, he wanted to sit on the swings, he was going soft in the head, and it was terrible, but brilliantly so.

Malfoys did not _fall _for people.

She caught his eye from across the store, and she gave him a little wave, and Draco found himself waving back.

Merlin, Granger really did ruin everything.

* * *

Theo tossed a small bag of sweets to Draco. "Try these," he said. "They're like Bertie Bott's, but you really get the texture of them, too. Try not to get straw, it takes forever to pick the bits out of your teeth."

Draco caught the bag in the air and opened it. He picked up a blue jellybean. "I should be safe with blueberry pie, right?"

"Careful," warned Theo quickly, popping a pink jellybean into his mouth. "That one's toilet water. Oh, urgh…"—he screwed up his face—"I've just got soap…Oi! Fibby!"

_CRACK_. Draco whipped his head around and saw that the Notts' house-elf had just appeared in front of them. Theo tossed another bag of candy at Fibby.

"Pick out the bad flavors," he ordered, and Fibby bowed very low, took the bag, and Disapparated with another loud _CRACK_.

Draco looked down at the coffee table and saw a copy of _Inside the Quidditch Pitch_, a popular Quidditch magazine. He grabbed it and began thumbing through the pages, looking longingly at all of the newest racing brooms up for owl order.

"Page eight," called out Theo from his seat on the couch. Draco quickly flipped back a few pages. "See the one in the second column, three down? That's the one I want."

"The Ashstreak," murmured Draco. "It's brilliant…look at how sleek the handle is, they must have polished it a thousand times…"

"My father said he might even get it for me," bragged Theo, his eyes glittering. "Assuming I propose to Sophie soon. But it's a small price to pay. Besides, once I get married I'll buy all the brooms in the world."

"You'd propose to her just so you could get a broom? Just like that?"

Theo nodded. "'Course," he said. "What's the big deal? Being married is just a way to get your rightful gold, you know that. You want to get married for another reason? For love? You should have tried being born into another family, mate."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"What are you waiting for, anyway?" asked Theo, frowning thoughtfully. "I thought you were the greediest prat in the Northern Hemisphere. I thought you'd get married to the first girl who spread her legs the minute after our graduation. What's stopping you from picking up any good-looking pureblood off the side of the road and marrying her so you can get your hands on centuries worth of family jewels?"

Draco was silent as he stared back at Theo. He matched Theo's frown perfectly before turning away. But Theo had known Draco longer than most people, and he was cleverer than most as well. A smirk split open his pallid face.

"Ah, I get it. You think you've found her."

When Draco said nothing, Theo stood up and walked over to him, crossing his arms over his chest, and repeated, "The girl you're going to marry—you've found her."

"I—no?" Draco shrugged and shook his head. If felt beyond strange to know that this conversation was technically about Hermione Granger, the girl he'd loved to loathe for years, the girl he'd grudgingly respected after she slapped him and made his face redden to the color of a tomato. The girl who had held his hand a couple of nights ago… "I mean—I might've."

"Who is it, then?" Theo demanded. "Thought you'd've told me first thing, mate. We've known each other practically our whole lives."

"You didn't tell me about that French girl you're dating," pointed out Draco. Theo didn't answer, merely stared at Draco with an expectant look on his thin face.

Finally, Theo's eyes brightened. "Is it Marietta? Daphne, maybe? Oh, never mind…I forgot she's with that blood traitor. Her sister, then? Is it that girl in our house a year younger…Beatrice? Mandy?"

Draco shook his head. "No. To all of them. And stop guessing."

"It's not Pansy, is it?" asked Theo hopefully.

"Absolutely not."

"Fine," said Theo, slumping back down into his seat. "But you know I always find these things out, Draco. And trust me, I will find out."

"It's no one," insisted Draco. "Really, I've just been talking to someone lately. I don't even think I'm interested."

"You're _talking_?" Theo's eyes were wide, and his jaw dropped open in an astonished smile. Theo apparently did not think very much of engaging in conversation with females when there was so much more that could be done.

"I, yes—"

"_Damn_." Theo shook his head. "You getting any?"

Draco scowled at Theo's crudeness. "No…"

Theo shook his head again and let out a laugh, slapping his knee. "Damn," he repeated. "You really have it bad. _Talking_. Honestly."

* * *

Draco looked at his watch; it was 8:17 PM, and he had just Apparated to the forest by Nott Mansion. His father had turned in early, and since Draco's room was a good distance away from Lucius's, the older Malfoy hadn't heard his son leave.

Draco tried to peer past the pine needles that were obstructing his view, but the particular area in which he was standing made it impossible to see if anyone was at the playground. Inhaling deeply, he stepped out of the forest.

Hermione's eyes met his immediately. A book fell open on her lap. "I knew you'd come," she said.

"I'm early," said Draco. "You said nine."

"Yes, but I was secretly hoping you'd arrive a little earlier," smiled Hermione, reluctantly shutting her book. "Though you did interrupt my precious reading time. Well done, Malfoy."

His lips twisted into—"Sweet Merlin, Malfoy, is that a _smile_?"

Hermione looked legitimately shocked. Her eyes looked ready to burst out of her skull. "Holy Hippogriff, I didn't know you had it in you! I'd have thought you lacked the necessary muscles after years of disuse!"

He scowled good-naturedly. "Honestly, Granger?"

She smiled back. "No wonder you lot don't smile much." She placed her book in her purse, then turned to glance at him again. "Why'd you stop to talk to me that night, Malfoy?"

"I don't know," said Draco, throwing his hands casually in the air to display his defeat.

Hermione seemed to accept this answer for now, and began talking once more. "My hours at the Ministry are very arbitrary," she said. "Some days I work twelve hours, other days I'm in my office for two and I have the rest of the day off. That's how I can visit you so often," she added, nodding at him.

"But it's not easy working there," she continued. "Every little thing reminds me of the war, everything. And I feel like no one else seems to notice. So I come here to clear my mind, get a hold of myself before going back in there. "

"Just trying to find peace, eh?" mused Draco.

"Help me look," said Hermione softly.

When their eyes met, Draco felt a sudden yet pleasant shudder through his veins. He'd never quite noticed before how rich and brown her eyes were.

Very slowly, he nodded.


	10. In the Desert Sun

**Author's Note: **Thought I'd give you all a quick update before I start getting bombarded with the college work I'm not quite yet prepared for. This chapter is actually probably my favorite :)

**

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**Chapter Nine  
**_In the Desert Sun_

"_Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real."  
__- Iris Murdoch, __British novelist (1919 - 1999)_

_

* * *

_

Draco Malfoy was very, very stressed.

He didn't know what this was. He didn't understand what it meant when Granger showed up at random hours of the day just to visit him. He couldn't fathom the meaning of her words, couldn't understand why she always stayed as long as she did, didn't know what she was feeling, what _he _was feeling. All he knew was that Granger smelled like raspberries and pine and that the playground was a very nice place to think and talk.

She was here now, at Flourish and Blotts. Draco had to crane his neck to see the top of her head just behind the row of bookshelves. He didn't know why, but he liked knowing that she was there. It had been about a month since Draco had first stopped to talk to her at the playground, and September was approaching fast, and with all the back to school students swarming the store looking for textbooks and quills and half-priced ink bottles, Draco was glad someone was there to be his staple, that someone was there to keep him sane.

He liked her.

Draco told himself it wasn't his fault that he did—it was inevitable, for the two spent hours together almost each and every night; it was perfectly understandable for Draco to have a soft spot for the bushy-haired Gryffindor he no longer hated.

He didn't know why, but he liked how he almost never saw her without a book in her hands. He liked her attitude, the way she'd roll her eyes at him.

It was strange, not hating Granger.

"What are you staring at, Malfoy?" He was snapped from his thoughts as he looked down and saw that Granger had steadily made her way across the bookstore and was now standing right in front of him. His thoughts had been so preoccupied, he hadn't even noticed. She was giving him a light, curious smile.

"Nothing," said Draco. He smiled back, and he wrongly handed a second-year _Most Potente Potions _instead of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two_. "Oops…" He grabbed the book out of the scared-looking girl's hands and handed her the correct one instead. Hermione snickered, not unkindly.

"Am I making you nervous?" she asked playfully, and Draco grimaced and shook his head slowly. Then his face broke out into a rare smile and he shrugged.

"I don't know Granger; you're here so often, yet strangely I still find myself distracted by you."

Hermione grinned. "I guess I should feel flattered."

"Don't be. I think it's just that giant mess of hair on your head; it catches the eye."

Together, the two of them made their way over to the register, where Mart was struggling to ring up everyone's orders efficiently. Draco impatiently waved him away and took over. He nearly buckled under the weight of a stack of textbooks four feet high as a flustered-looking witch handed it to him. Hermione laughed loudly, and the witch frowned in her direction.

"Granger, you're going to get me fired, you know that?" Draco commented wryly, watching the bushy-haired Gryffindor lean against the counter. She was looking at the half-priced books on the shelf next to her.

"Maybe that's my general plan," said Hermione casually. She raised her eyebrows casually towards the witch as Hermione saw her hand her daughter the bulky Flourish and Blotts bag holding all her schoolbooks.

Draco snickered and gave her a skeptical look. "Now, why would you ever want to get me fired?"

"Because you're the most annoying, overweening prick I've ever met, of course," she informed him lightly, flipping open to the seventh chapter of _Dueling Fundamentals: Be Your Own Second! _But Draco knew she was half-joking.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Now, now, Granger, do you really mean that?"

She didn't hesitate. "Of course."

"And what would I have to do to convince you otherwise?" he asked.

"I don't know, not be a prick?"

He couldn't help himself, really. He didn't _want _to cup her cheek in his hand and lift her eyes from the book to his own. He didn't _want _to flash her his trademark smirk.

And he _certainly _didn't want to lean in and press his lips against hers, not at all. But yet he found himself, to his horror, doing exactly that.

He didn't want to kiss Granger; he didn't want to like it; he didn't want it to dawn on him that this kiss was much different from Pansy's kisses back at Hogwarts…he _didn't_ want to admit that this kiss, somehow, felt a lot more real. Stunningly real…uncomfortably real.

Draco couldn't tell how long it lasted, but he knew that he felt he had drawn away too soon. He stood upright again and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Hermione didn't react beyond steadily reaching her fingers up to touch her lips, almost as if to check and see that they were still there. Then she calmly shut the book, placing it back in its proper place. With no hint of any readable emotion on her face, she said, "Alright,_ now_ you're the most annoying, overweening prick I've ever met. Apparently the last nine years were just a warm-up act."

But she stayed with him for the remainder of his shift, sometimes walking around the bookstore examining interesting-looking books, giving him the occasional smile, other times just leaning against the counter watching Draco while he worked. Draco didn't mind, and though he couldn't fully understand it, he felt somewhere in his gut that maybe, just perhaps, he was no longer quite as alone.

* * *

"Good evening, Granger."

She gave him a withering look. "Hi," she said shortly.

"I thought I'd find you here early," said Draco. It was only 11:17 PM, yet they were both at the playground, nearly five hours premature.

Hermione said nothing in response to him.

"I know you're not mad at me," said Draco, walking over to her and sitting next to her on the swings. "Otherwise you wouldn't have stayed."

Hermione brushed her fingers against her lips once more and said, "I-I was just confused."

Instead of responding, he leaned in again, seemingly in slow motion, and he pressed his lips to hers for the second time that day. Hermione kissed him back briefly before playfully shoving him away.

Had he not known better, Draco would have thought that the scowl on her face was a serious one. "Is this going to become a regular thing with you?" joked Hermione, looking stern. But he could tell that behind the teasing was a serious question.

Draco laughed softly, but he soon fell silent and shrugged, not knowing whether to continue laughing with her or to start actually figuring out what was going on. This was all so new. He didn't hate Granger, he even liked her a little… But that didn't explain why he'd kissed her…did it? He'd just _done _it.

It had been a very, very long time since Draco had been impulsive.

At his silence, Hermione gave him a worried look. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Don't be thick," she chastised, smacking him gently on the shoulder. "We talk about nearly everything that bothers us. Just tell me what's on your mind."

"That's just it," said Draco. "I don't _know_."

Hermione frowned.

"I just…I don't understand what this is, Granger. I don't understand what's happening." His voice was an octave higher; he sounded panicked, almost. He wouldn't even meet her eyes.

She raised her eyebrow. "Well, Malfoy, maybe you aren't meant to understand it."

Hermione got up from the swing set and walked over to him again so that she was in front of him, slipping her hand in his. His fingers tightened around hers instinctively, and she smiled. "Just let yourself enjoy life's surprises," said Hermione.

When she kissed him this time, he felt the rush of the world echo thunderously in his ears.

She broke away, and Draco found himself grasping both her arms with his hands. Embarrassed, he let go quickly. Hermione smiled knowingly and cocked her head at him thoughtfully. Then, looking as though she'd suddenly remembered something, she dug into her purse and pulled out a stack of papers. Draco recognized it as the _Daily Prophet_.

"What's that?" he asked anyway.

"You made fun of Ron the other day," Hermione reminded him gleefully, waving the newspaper in the air. "You said that finding peace while working in Law Enforcement was like finding a Galleon in his pocket."

Draco remembered and nodded his head. "Yeah, so?"

Instead of responding, Hermione tossed the _Daily Prophet_'s Quidditch section over to Draco, and he caught the rolled-up newspaper without a second thought. Sure enough, there he was—Weasley, decked out in his orange and white Chudley Cannons uniform, zooming across the page, his fist raised triumphantly in the air. As Draco's eyes skimmed the article, he felt his heart sinking.

…_Ronald Weasley, 19, recently signed his second contract as both Captain and Keeper of the once seemingly hopeless team, the Chudley Cannons…_

…_being offered a handsome sum of 450 Galleons a month as well as a 100 Galleon bonus for each win, following his spectacular performance during these past two years…_

Hermione grinned at his dumbfounded expression. "Guess Galleons are in considerable abundance there, aren't they?" she mused playfully, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now if only peace was as easy to find."

Draco could not peel his eyes from the article. He read it over and over again, not sure he believed it. Weasley was actually making a real living. Four hundred and fifty Galleons a month was serious gold. Draco made two hundred a month working at Flourish and Blotts…not that he needed the gold, of course, but still, it felt strange knowing that Weasley's career was running circles around Draco's.

"Is something wrong?" asked Hermione sweetly.

Draco only shook his head and let out a low whistle. "Damn." He gave Hermione a sideways glace. "You know, I swore the same day Weasley got rich I'd ask out a Mudblood."

It was true. Though it hadn't been a real promise, Draco had jokingly made the comment to Blaise in sixth year after Blaise had mentioned that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was doing extremely well and that maybe this generation of Weasley's had some ambition after all. Draco had confidently told Blaise that while Fred and George may have talent, Ron Weasley would remain poor forever…and so he'd jokingly sworn a contract to his fellow Slytherin. He'd completely forgotten about it until now, but as he brought it up to Granger, he grinned.

She looked amused at his confession. "I don't see any Mudbloods around here, Malfoy."

"No, but there's the next best thing, which is a Muggle-born…"

Hermione didn't say anything, merely looked at him expectantly. He smirked back at her, handed her the newspaper, and paused for dramatic effect.

After a few blank, long seconds, Hermione asked, "Well, Malfoy, aren't you going to ask me out?"

Draco pretended to ponder her suggestion. She continued to look at him with eyes veiled with confusion. She moved a fraction of an inch closer to him. Draco leaned in too, only slightly, as if he were leaning in to kiss her, but just as she began reciprocating his actions, he drew back sharply.

"You know what, Granger," he answered after much deliberation. "No, I don't think I will."

He actually grinned at the look of shock on her face. Draco began walking backwards and said, "Goodnight, _Hermione_." He turned around again and sped up towards the forest.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Draco, you're in love with Granger."

The door to Flourish and Blotts had just burst open with a loud noise, only to reveal Theodore Nott standing impressively in the doorway, his hands resting on the doorframe. The store had only opened shop seven minutes ago, though Draco had been there much longer, and golden sunlight was streaming through the translucent shades.

"I…er, what?" replied Draco lamely.

"_Granger_," repeated Theo. "Don't be a prat, now, I saw you two together on the playground last night when I was going out to buy some more of those Muggle cigarettes. You two were right by Nott Mansion, don't tell me you didn't think I'd ever find out."

The gleam in Theo's eyes was almost too much to handle.

"You _kissed_ her, Draco."

"So?"

He actually licked his lips and rubbed his palms together, his eyes wild. "All this time," he said, shaking his head, "it was _Granger_."

"I am not in love with her," insisted Draco, rolling his eyes and refocusing his gaze on the bookshelves in front of him. He had already finished shelving the books meant for those particular shelves though, and because Theo was now blocking his only way out, he could only hope to Merlin that Theo was merciful and would drop the subject.

No such luck. Theo was like a little boy on Christmas day. "You are in love with her," he nearly cackled. "You are, you are, you are!"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed.

"You _are_," smirked Theo.

The blond shook his head vehemently. "I've only known her for a few weeks at most, you idiot. Love takes longer than that."

"What would _you_ know about love?"

At this, Draco raised his eyebrows. "What would you?" he challenged.

"So we both agree that we know nothing about love," grinned Theo, steepling his fingers mock-mysteriously. "Excellent. I do, however, know that you have never smiled like that before in your entire life."

"Like what?"

"Like last night. Right after you kissed Granger."

Draco glared at him.

"Let's have a Slytherin reunion," suggested Theo, his laugh coming from his dark eyes. "A bachelor party for you before you and Granger have bushy-haired half-blood children with alabaster skin. Blaise and Goyle will come."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not even serious. And as I've said, we just talk."

"And kiss."

"Irrelevant."

Theo smirked and chuckled softly under his breath; clearly he thought there was more to Draco's outings with Granger. "I know you better than you think," he informed him.

He watched in satisfaction as Draco sighed in defeat and beckoned for Theo to move in closer. His face inches away, Draco could feel Theo's hot, triumphant breath upon his own.

"We've been meeting at the playground," whispered Draco with shifty eyes. "Every night, sometimes during the day. I like her, Theo."

"Ah?" Theo looked as though Christmas had arrived early. He surreptitiously pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket.

"You can't tell anyone," ordered Draco firmly, and stood upright again.

"Sure." Theo leaned against the counter, shielding his scrap of parchment from view as he scribbled a short note with a borrowed quill from Flourish and Blotts. Draco paid him no attention—he was already rambling on about the Mudblood Granger.

Theo glanced up long enough to watch Draco's eyes grow misty…it was sickening. The blond clutched the dirty rag tightly in his hands, holding it in front of his chest, his eyes focused on a point somewhere roughly above Theo's head.

"When you met Sophie," began Draco, "did you feel as though all the thoughts in your head sort of quieted themselves?"

"Er…_yes_," said Theo vacantly, not paying much attention.

"It's strange with her," admitted Draco, still not looking at Theo. He seemed a little embarrassed. "Not like it ever was with Pansy."

Theo's quill paused in midair. A droplet of ink fell onto the parchment. "Continue," urged Theo.

Draco looked confused, but he kept talking. "With Pansy I was always angry or annoyed, even if she was trying to make me cheerful or something. But with Hermi—er, Granger, we can just sit on the same playground on opposite sides, and I'm more peaceful than I've ever been in my life."

"Eerie," remarked Theo with a raise of his eyebrows. He set the quill down on the counter; his arm was still shielding it from view.

"It's not that I'm in love with her," insisted Draco firmly, still not looking at Theo or his quill. "I think I'm just _supposed_ to _be_ with her."

Theo stared.

"Trust me," said Draco. "I'm about as pleased with this as you are." And yet strangely, Draco felt his lips curl into a calm smile.

Theo furrowed his brow thoughtfully and studied Draco carefully. "You really feel that way?" he asked.

Draco nodded, stopped smiling and said, "Trust me. I can't explain it. Forget I said anything."

It was at this point that Theo made a decision he'd never thought he'd make. This was a crossroads, and Theo made his choice. He'd known Draco for years, and he was the closest thing to a friend he'd had. Why was Theo sticking his neck out for Pansy of all people, when Draco had proven himself to be a far better companion and overall better human being?

Frowning, Theo quickly grabbed the quill again and scribbled two more words at the end of the note, not even bothering to sign his name.

Folding the parchment into a small square, Theo lifted it up in the air as if toasting Draco, then swept from the shop, his dark blue robes billowing behind him. Draco scowled and shrugged to himself. Probably another underhanded note to one of the girls he was cheating on his girlfriend with, asking her where he should next meet her.

Draco statement was half-right, anyway. In actual fact, Theo had hastily scrawled a few short words to one of the girls with whom he had cheated on Sophie. But the note had nothing to do with meeting her.

No, Theo had written something very different and very simple.

_Pansy_, the note said. _It's Granger, and he's happy. Give up._

He was not going to help Pansy. And she could not force him to.

Theo's hands opened as they dropped the note on the counter of the Owl Post Office. The secretary didn't even blink as she collected a Knut from Theo, tied the note to an tawny owl's leg, and sent the creature flying off into the immaculate blue sky.


	11. I Watched My Nerves Come Undone

**Author's Note:** I finally got my university schedule straightened out, so in celebration I'm posting the next chapter a day earlier than planned :). I'm so glad people are liking this story! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/subscribed...it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :D. I love hearing everyone's input about the story...especially Pansy's motives and such. Eep. Enjoy this one!

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
**_I Watched My Nerves Come Undone_

"_Feel the fear and do it anyway."  
- Susan Jeffers _

* * *

Draco Malfoy smiled to himself. He was feeling quite confident this morning. After he'd told Theo about Hermione, Theo had Side-Alonged home with Draco and listened to his recount of how his first encounter with Granger had snowballed into nearly nightly meetings at the playground and tri-weekly visits at Flourish and Blotts. He'd sent Theo home around nine, and Theo had even mentioned that he thought Granger was a very bright girl. Draco suspected this was Theo's way of telling Draco that he reluctantly approved…or at the very least, that he wouldn't tell Draco's father.

Draco was feeling so confident, in fact, that he'd taken the day off work to visit Blaise Zabini at the Ministry of Magic. Presently, Draco was strolling down the dingy Muggle street leading to the broken-down red telephone box marking the visitor's entrance; he'd just Apparated in front of the overflowing dumpster a few meters away.

He reached the old red telephone box, still missing its panes of glass as usual, and stepped inside. Draco lifted the receiver from where it was hanging slightly askew, and pressed it against his ear as he dialed the numbers…_six_, _two, four, four, two_…

Almost immediately, a sleek-sounding disembodied voice sounded from inside the telephone box, and Draco set the receiver down as he listened to the woman speak.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Draco Malfoy," he answered clearly. "Guest of Blaise Zabini, Portkey Office."

"Thank you," said the female voice. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

After a faint click, Draco heard the clatter of metal and saw a square silver badge slide out of the change chute. He picked it up: it read _Draco Malfoy, Guest_. He fastened it to the breast of his robes.

"Visitor to the Ministry," the voice continued, "you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

Draco felt the earth quake beneath him and clutched his wand firmly as he sank further and further into the ground. The telephone box continued to depress until Draco saw only blackness. It took nearly a minute for the sliver of golden light to appear, and Draco shut his eyes until he heard the door of the telephone box slide open; only then did he reopen his eyes and exit, greeting the sight of the dark wood floors and peacock-blue ceiling before him. Draco immediately joined the crowd of people in front of him, all trying to get to their offices to start their day of work.

He stopped in front of the desk marked "security" just before the golden entry gates. A bored-looking wizard glanced up at Draco and set aside the Quidditch magazine he'd been reading.

"Wand," said the wizard as he waved a long golden instrument up and down Draco's torso and all down his back. Satisfied, he placed the golden rod back on the desk and took Draco's wand.

The security wizard dropped the wand onto single brass scale, and it began to vibrate violently until it spit out a narrow strip of parchment, which the wizard tore off.

"Ten inches, unicorn hair, hawthorn…been in use nine years, correct?"

Draco nodded and watched as the wizard lazily impaled the bit of parchment onto a brass spike holding several more wand slips. "Here," the wizard grunted, pushing the wand back into Draco's hands. Placing his wand back in his pocket, Draco went through the gates and entered a lift just as it was about to close.

The same cool female voice from the telephone box announced that they had reached Level Seven, and Draco found himself shoved a little more to the back of the lift as several witches and wizards exited and more entered. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Draco wriggled his way back to the front as the lift ascended.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center."

"Hup." Draco nodded apologetically at a stout brown-haired wizard as he nearly mowed him down trying to exit the lift. He made his way down the cramped corridor and turned a left at the end of the hallway. He'd only visited Blaise once before, but he still found no trouble in making his way to the Portkey Office. Sure enough, soon he was standing in front of the wooden door; he knocked once and the door opened automatically.

The office was a sharp contrast to the tiny corridor outside. The room itself was spacious, with plenty of deskspace, and of the seven large desks that filled the room only four wizards were sitting at them. The other three held rows of seemingly useless junk, which Draco presumed to be Portkeys. He caught sight of Blaise sitting at the desk closest to the window.

Blaise was wearing black robes, too—apparently Theo hadn't given _him_ any fashion advice. Speaking of Theo, Draco was sure that Blaise was the reason Theo hadn't gotten in any legal trouble yet for making unauthorized Portkeys so often.

Blaise still sat hunched over at his desk, writing. Draco coughed loudly, and the dark-skinned Slytherin glanced up.

"Draco," he said in surprise, rising from his chair and walking over to his old Housemate. "I haven't seen you in ages. What brings you here today?"

"I've come to settle some business," said Draco simply, and pulled out his money bag. "Remember those years ago, when I made you a deal and said that the day Weasley got rich, I'd ask out a Muggle-born?"

Blaise smirked. "I'd forgotten."

Draco counted out ten gold Galleons and tipped the coins into Blaise's outstretched palm. He smirked back. "I think you'll find this a nice alternative," he suggested, placing his bag of coins back into his pocket.

"Why?" asked Blaise with certain relish. "The task proved too difficult for you?"

"Certainly not," argued Draco amiably. "The problem lies in the fact that I was going to ask a Muggle-born out to dinner, but couldn't because I remembered the deal I'd struck with you. And I didn't want to ask her because I _had _to. So, for the price of ten Galleons, I'm calling off the deal."

Blaise narrowed his eyes curiously. "Who is she?"

"I except you'll hear from Theo soon enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I am in dire need of a spaghetti dinner," Draco remarked, and strode casually out the door.

* * *

Right after he'd left Blaise's office, he'd headed straight back to the lift and had ridden it up to the second floor, which housed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Then he'd found the Improper Use of Magic Office…and right now he was standing in front of the door, his hand poised and ready to knock.

Draco was just about to make his presence known when the door swung open, revealing a tight-lipped middle-aged witch with blonde curls and horn-rimmed glasses; she was holding a stack of papers under her arm. She glared at the sight of him.

"Yes?" she drawled.

"Er…" Draco tried to peer past her. "I'm looking for someone…"

The witch rolled her eyes and stepped past him, muttering something under her breath as she ambled down the corridor. Draco, gathering that he was allowed to enter, stepped inside.

"Malfoy?" He heard Hermione's startled voice from the desk on the right. He glanced at her and saw that she was clutching her witch's hat in both hands. "What…what are you doing here?"

Draco was not about to waste any time. He cleared his throat. "Granger, I'll have you know that I don't usually do this, but I was wondering"—he paused for effect—"if you would care to accompany me to dinner this evening?"

Hermione looked shocked. The witch's hat she was holding fell to the floor.

"I…I'm busy tonight," she managed to get out, her eyes wide. "Er…I—sorry."

Draco was not going to be shot down. To be perfectly frank, this was technically the first time he had ever asked a girl out on a date. Those trips to Hogsmeade with Pansy didn't count because she'd been crazy about him, so there was no nervousness or apprehension involved because he'd always known she would agree.

"Busy with what?"

"I—work. I have some forms to fill out."

Draco shrugged. "Bring them. We'll eat quick."

"But I—"

Draco grinned and ignored her spluttering excuses. "Great. I'll see you at seven. Or I'm coming to fetch you myself."

He thought her smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

* * *

Draco watched Hermione enter the restaurant the second his watch turned to seven o'clock. She was still dressed in her robes; she must have come straight from work. She was clutching a letter in her hands and didn't look very happy.

Her eyes found him, and she crossed the restaurant in what seemed like two strides and sat down across from him.

"Good evening," said Draco.

Hermione looked guilty. "I only came to tell you that I can't stay, Malfoy, I'm sorry," she said. "I _hate _cancelling plans, but I'm afraid I almost have to… Something's just come up. We can go out for dinner tomorrow night, can't we?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Sure, Granger. What's going on?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Draco," began Hermione, and she truly did sound apologetic. "Ginny sent me an owl just now asking if I'd like to go for coffee tonight, and I do rarely see her, and I've never turned her down before…"

He shrugged good-naturedly, though in all truthfulness he was very annoyed at the Weasley girl for stealing his date for the evening. "No worries, then."

Hermione bit her lip, feeling sorry for having to cancel on Draco. And she'd been so happy that he'd asked her to dinner. Then she suddenly clapped her hands together in exclamation. "I know!" she beamed. "You can come along with me! I'll have to introduce you to her eventually!"

Draco found himself shaking his head vehemently. "Absolutely not," he kept repeating. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come off it," she pestered, standing up and gripping him by the arm as if she expected to drag him there. "You'll love Ginny!"

He gave her an incredulous look.

"Oh…right." Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together in thought. "But you'll have to at least learn to get along with her, you know, for my sake."

They had stepped outside, and Draco was leading Hermione to the Leaky Cauldron. "No," he kept saying. "Do not make me do this, Granger…"

"Well, I refuse to cancel on you, but I never see Ginny!" protested Hermione as they entered the pub. People began to stare at their noisy conversation. "Stop being a baby, Draco," she demanded.

"Ginny Weasley will _not _react kindly to the sight of me," reasoned Draco carefully. "Otherwise I would go, certainly!"

A plan was formulating inside Hermione's head. "Is that so?" she wondered with a curious smile on her face.

"Absolutely," confirmed Draco.

Hermione grinned. "Perfect." And no sooner had she said so than she pulled out her wand, pointed it at Draco and muttered a few words that Draco recognized as—

"A Glamour Charm? Seriously, Hermione?" But Draco could already feel his appearance changing. His skin was less pale, his features had shifted, and a quick glance at his reflection in a puddle of butterbeer on the pub floor told him that his hair color had changed to a dark brown. He looked at Hermione impatiently.

"So, what? You're just going to disguise me as a handsome stranger forever?" At the word _forever_, Hermione's eyes flickered up to meet his, but he didn't notice.

"Just for tonight," said Hermione softly. "Think about it…it'll be fun!" Draco scowled, but finally he nodded his head in unenthusiastic concord.

"I abhor you, Granger, and the ridiculous things you put me through," said Draco firmly. But he held her hand as they walked out of the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was about to rip his eyes out of his skull.

If he had to listen to Ginny Weasley coo _one more time_, he was going to go insane. He had already sat through nearly two hours of listening to her purr on and on about how _handsome_ Hermione's date was, how _absolutely dashing_, and wasn't she just _so_ lucky to have _found_ him.

As she went on and on with her annoying ramblings, Draco sat in his fake body, accepting the compliments with grace and charm but secretly wanting to hit the redhead with a well-aimed Silencing Charm.

He could tell Hermione felt a little awkward, too. Surprisingly, this alleviated Draco's tension a little. He turned away from Ginny, who was currently in awe of Fake Draco's bone structure.

"Where do you work, Robert?" asked Ginny with great interest. Hermione had even given Draco a fake name tonight.

"France," said Draco a little too quickly, glancing over at Hermione who nodded and beamed at Ginny. "Er…International…stuff."

Ginny nodded eagerly. Draco rolled his eyes to himself and jumped slightly when he suddenly felt Hermione's hand on his leg. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at her, and she slapped him on the knee swiftly. Looking down, he saw that she was just giving him a note she'd written on the corner of her napkin.

_I guess I owe you a lot of visits for this one. Thanks._

Hermione distracted Ginny by asking her about certain Healing spells as Draco scrawled a note back. "_Dear Granger_," he wrote. "_Maybe instead of visiting me at work, you'd like to go to the playground with me tomorrow, instead. Because you owe me big time_."

Draco watched her intently as her eyes passed over the note, and he caught a flicker of a smile. Tomorrow was Saturday. They'd never seen each other on the weekend before.

A plump waitress in a hairnet whizzed past them. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked brightly.

"I'll take a coffee, black," said Hermione. Draco ordered an iced tea, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling when he watched Hermione drop three spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee mug.

So the two sipped their drinks simultaneously and listened to Ginny gush on and on about the two of them—Hermione had fabricated an extremely impressive lie about how the two had met—and Draco had to endure Ginny's overt stares. But he was polite, and both he and Hermione pretended to be enjoying themselves.

But secretly they were both looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

Someday, they'd made it to Saturday.

"Draco, watch it!" laughed Hermione as Draco nearly tripped over the wooden ledge at the end of the playground. He grinned sheepishly at her but caught his balance.

"Quiet, Granger, I know what I'm doing." She smiled back in response.

He didn't know why he was so comfortable around her. Draco didn't even have to try.

The sky was considerably clear that day, with soft wisps of clouds floating idly. It all seemed peaceful enough—children played in the streets where cars were scarce, grandmothers sat watching and knitting striped sweaters, and a park was littered with happy couples grasping hands and exchanging pecks on the cheek.

But if anyone had looked closer, they would have seen a sullen-looking, dark-haired girl with an odd sort of beauty about her standing silently leaned against the fence, her face hidden by tree leaves. Her features were soft enough to be called beautiful, but the bridge of her nose curved upward perhaps too much so and gave her the slight appearance of a pug. Her bottle green cloak was wrapped tightly around her even though the day was sunny.

Her cold, black eyes were fixed on one of the many couples occupying the park. This couple in particular consisted of a blond man and a petite young woman; the girl rested casually against a pole supporting the swing set, and the man stood talking to her, leaning forward slightly. The lone girl in the green cloak gazed almost hungrily at his pale locks, the perfect mix of white and gold. His eyes, though she could not see them from the distance, were certainly the striking silver color she remembered from her days at school.

She knew who he was, of course. What self-respecting pureblood female didn't? And after all, she had spent seven years sharing a common room with him.

The girl he was with—that was easy. She could be taken care of if need be.

Pansy was holding the scrap of parchment Theo had sent her. It was crinkled and slightly worn at the edges as though she had spent many sleepless hours turning it over in her hands, rereading it and wondering if the words could possibly be true. And now she knew that they were, after she'd come to see for herself.

How could he have fallen for _her_? For Granger? Was this just a youthful act of defiance? Pansy scowled. She should just go straight to Malfoy Manor right now and inform Lucius what his son was _really _up to.

But Pansy realized that this wasn't the best course of action. Making Draco resent her for being a tattletale would not grant her eternal victory. No, she had to go about this another way. She had to be a true Slytherin…she'd push her cunning to the limits this time.

The sullen girl in the green cloak suddenly ran a hand across her flat belly, an idea hitting her with force. A plan instantly formed in her mind, transfiguring itself from past fancies and secret wishes. Pansy had been planning to get an abortion at St. Mungo's, but she could make this work to her advantage now… Draco was a considerate, fair guy, wasn't he? If she were to get pregnant with _his_ child…

Oh, what a plan it was.

"I am going to marry Draco Malfoy," the girl said, repeating the dream she'd had since she was a small girl. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and took careful care not to be noticed. But Draco and Granger were only paying attention to each other.

She couldn't understand what Draco saw in that buck-toothed Mudblood wench, anyway. She wasn't even pretty, was she, with her messy hair all over the place and her plain, boring features. And her blood! The girl scoffed at this, tossing her hair over her shoulder. This was obviously some rebellious escapade he was embarking on before he settled down with someone who was _really_ worth his time.

And that someone, she realized, was her.

"Pansy Malfoy," she muttered softly. She snuck another look at the happy couple, pondering their falling out with anticipation. Smiling slightly, she turned on the spot and disappeared into thin air.


	12. One By One

**Author's Note: **Hi, all! Recently I've been very busy so I haven't had much of a chance to write! The good news is that my college classes aren't very time-consuming (yet, anyway...) so hopefully within the next few weeks I'll get back on track. In the meantime, though, I do hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one! DragonGirl323 was the 99th reviewer (my friend Seth was the 100th, but...he's my friend, so he doesn't count :P)! YAY I LOVE YOU ALL 3

* * *

**Chapter Eleven  
**_One By One_

* * *

Sunday morning, Draco couldn't help but grin secretly as he thought back to the day before. He was glad the store wasn't too crowded; there were only a few customers in the store; it was raining, so he supposed most families had postponed their school shopping.

Draco was excited, for some reason or another. It still astounded him that there was so much about Hermione that confused him, irked him, or just plain angered him…and yet he could not picture her any differently. He knew that she was going to walk through the doors any second, holding _Hogwarts, A History_ and smiling beautifully; that beautiful crooked smile.

She'd owled him yesterday evening thanking him briefly for the wonderful day and for paying for dinner. But he knew she was bursting with thoughts about what actually happened during that _wonderful_ day. Draco smiled as his thoughts led him back to yesterday. They'd stayed there the entire day almost, leaving only to eat lunch at a nearby restaurant. Hermione had paid, but only because Draco hadn't had any Muggle money. That was why he'd insisted on going to dinner in Diagon Alley at one of the many restaurants later in the evening.

He hadn't counted the number of times he'd kissed her yesterday, or the number of shocks each kiss sent through his entire body, but he knew that it was enough to make him want to kiss her right now…right this second. Draco couldn't explain _why _he liked kissing Granger. He didn't really want to explain it, actually. He kind of liked the way his thoughts about her sort of floated around in his head.

Yes, yesterday had certainly been an interesting day for Draco, and he'd enjoyed every minute of it. Well, except for the minute of pain he'd experienced when he'd stubbed his toe on his dresser that morning while getting ready. But everything else had been nice. He and Granger had met at the playground, talked, eaten lunch, talked some more, strolled around Diagon Alley, and eaten dinner. The day had been entirely ordinary, but that was what had made it so extraordinary in itself.

In fact, Draco thought pleasantly to himself, the day had been so extraordinary that he hadn't even _thought _of Lucius the entire day, even as he'd gazed at Nott Mansion from across the playground—

His face fell.

_Lucius. _What would he say?

"Shit," muttered Draco frantically, and his mind began whirring.

He hadn't even thought this through… He realized bitterly that this would never be possible. Hermione couldn't last as anything more…had Draco forgotten about his lineage? He shook his head to himself madly. And even if lineage didn't matter to Draco, there was that fortune…and Draco was positive that his father would disown him before he let Draco marry a Muggle-born.

The spell placed upon the Gringotts account technically didn't forbid Draco from marrying a Muggle-born…it was more to guarantee that there would always be an heir, and centuries ago Muggle-borns and half bloods hadn't been an issue. But Lucius could easily write the entire account out of Draco's possession…_that_ power lay in legal matters…

Although…since when did Draco start thinking about marrying Granger? He paused right where he'd been pacing back and forth. Draco was very confused. Too confused. Almost to the point of insanity. This was all entirely new to him, and he did not like it one little bit.

Now Draco was left standing in the middle of Flourish and Blotts with no idea what to do.

There was no possible way he could _be_ with her. It didn't matter how pretty her smile was or how right her ankles looked when they crossed themselves on the swings. It didn't matter how much he liked her laugh or how much he looked forward to her visits, or how cute she looked with spaghetti sauce on the corner of her mouth…

Just then, just as he was trying to convince himself why he could not be with Hermione, the door to Flourish and Blotts swung dramatically open. There stood Hermione, with her crooked smile and _Hogwarts, a History_ and flyaway hair the color of chestnuts.

He looked at her. She stared inquisitively back. Those _eyes_…

"Fuck it," Draco said aloud, and a scared-looking first year next to him covered his ears fearfully and scurried across the store to find his mother. Draco walked over to Hermione, placed his hands on her waist, and pulled her closer to him.

"…what?" said Hermione blankly. She blinked.

"I said, fuck it," repeated Draco, and kissed her.

* * *

She'd stayed for his entire shift; it was Sunday, so Hermione didn't work at the Ministry. Draco was only working on Sunday, as he was quick to inform her, because Mart had called in sick.

"I'm not a common _pauper_, Granger, I don't work on Sundays," he'd dissented, leaning against the metal pole of the swing set. "I, unlike most others, do not have to work for a living."

"Then what do you work for?"

He looked at her in shock; her question had caught him by surprise. Draco had never, ever told anyone the real reason why he'd gotten the job before. He faced Granger, his grey eyes fixed on her brown ones with such intensity he thought he might just fall over, and he wondered.

The reason that Draco had never told anyone why he'd gotten the job was because no one had asked. Not like Hermione had. Sure, people like his father and Theo had asked Draco why he'd gotten _a _job…but they'd never asked why he'd gotten _the _job.

"I work…" Draco didn't know quite how to put this. "I work to keep myself from going insane."

"And shutting yourself up in a bookstore all day will keep you sane?" Hermione sounded genuinely curious.

"No," muttered Draco defensively, wishing she'd stop asking him questions he didn't want to answer. "There are a lot of things about the bookstore that draw me to it. Surely _you _of all people would understand," he added, sneering at her.

Hermione smiled peacefully. "Now, now, Malfoy, I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's fine," Draco relented, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was quite late…or early, depending on how you looked at it. "Bookstores have people, but not so many that their senseless chatter would annoy me. It's just the perfect amount of human presence to keep me comfortable. It's like I'm shut off from the world, except it's only a trial run. Then there are all the books…something about books is quite soothing, isn't it?"

She nodded in agreement. She had walked over to him and was now sitting on the ground next to where he stood. He sat on the ground, too.

"All those words," muttered Draco, knowing that he probably sounded batty already. "And if I ever do go insane, I can just read those books until all the words are in my mind and I don't have these thoughts in my head anymore."

Reaching over slowly, Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Oh, wonderful," groaned Draco, but he squeezed her hand back. "Now you think I'm a _sap_. Think again, Hermione."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he couldn't help it that it felt so nice, and he couldn't help that he didn't want to pull away. Hermione turned her face upwards to look into his almost pained expression.

"I don't think you're a sap at all," she said softly.

"I don't want to go mad," said Draco simply.

She smiled and sat upright again, placing her second hand on top of Draco's as well. "Somehow, I don't think you will," she assured him…and for now, Draco decided, her assurance was enough. And he believed her.

"Who would have thought you'd ever end up here with me, right Granger?" smirked Draco as he ran his thumb across the palm of Hermione's hand in an odd sort of display of affection. He didn't seem to be grasping the gravity of his situation right now, he knew, but he didn't care. He'd deal with his father and his bullshit later. Right now, she was all that was there.

Hermione shrugged serenely in response and nudged him with her shoulder. "Something on your mind?" she asked, noting the relaxed expression on his face.

Draco shook his head. "Just you." There was no change of expression when he said so, and Hermione smiled at the candidness of his statement.

Suddenly there was the unmistakable hoot of an owl, and Draco instinctively looked above him. Not surprisingly, a small furry grey owl the size of a tennis ball swooped down and dropped a letter right on Hermione's head. The letter slid to the ground, and she immediately picked it up.

"Pigwidgeon," she mused, looking towards the sky; dawn was just beginning to break. It must have taken the owl several hours to track down Hermione. With a side glance at Draco, she opened the letter.

_Dear Hermione_, the letter read. _Coffee was fun; I'm glad you were able to make it. I'm so glad you've found someone. I know you didn't want to do the long-distance thing with Ron, and even though he's my brother I'm glad you decided not to wait around…you deserve to enjoy yourself! Robert seems like a fine catch. Anyway, I'm just writing to let you know that I'll be very busy at St. Mungo's for the next few weeks, so I won't be able to see you… They've put me on practical training on the third floor; I'll be looking after patients, just minor things of course…_

Hermione stopped reading.

"Well," said Hermione weakly. "She likes you." Without asking, Draco snatched the letter effortlessly from Hermione's fingers. His eyes scanned the parchment with lightning speed, and she could see his expression darken considerably.

"…_didn't want to do the long-distance thing with Ron_…" read Draco, his scowl deeper than the Hogwarts lake. "So you two _did _have a thing, then?"

"Draco Malfoy!" exclaimed Hermione in surprise, snatching the letter back from him and grinning widely. "Are you _jealous_?"

He only shook his head calmly and looked at her. "Should I be?"

"Should you?"

"You tell me, Granger."

"Well…" Hermione seemed to be measuring her words very carefully. "Of course my answer is no, because Ron is just my friend now and we've both accepted that. But it _had _been a general tacit agreement…an expectation, almost…that we'd probably get back together—"

She paused at the look on Draco's face. "That was before you, Draco!" she explained hurriedly, and his expression softened, if only slightly. "But to be honest," said Hermione nervously, "I don't even know what I am to you."

Draco blinked. "You're Granger."

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "I _know_, but—"

"I don't hang out at deserted playgrounds with just anyone, you know," said Draco. "I don't hate you, I told you. In fact, the amount of hatred I still possess for you is so absolutely miniscule that yes, it actually _would_ make me jealous if you liked Weasley, especially since his little sister would definitely be on his side."

"Don't be so sure," grinned Hermione, waving the letter in the air. She was half-grinning because she was just generally a cheerful person, but mostly she was grinning because Draco had underhandedly admitted his jealousy to her, and she loved every second of it. "Ginny might be on your side," said Hermione encouragingly. "After all, she said she likes you!"

"She likes who?" challenged Draco.

"You," said Hermione defensively.

"What did the letter say? Me or Robert?"

Hermione huffed impatiently. "I don't think that's entirely relevant," she argued, folding the letter up again and placing it in her bag. "After all, it's your personality that she likes!"

Draco only stared at Hermione. Slowly, her expression changed to one of defeat.

"Oh, fine," she relented, rolling her eyes. "Robert's strong chin and five o'clock shadow may have had something to do with it." Draco continued staring, and Hermione groaned. "Fine, fine," she said in annoyance. "And the blue eyes. Are you _ever _satisfied?"

He smirked in response and stared off into the distance. The playground was always so much more magical at this time of night. It was something to do with the moonlight and the way it hit in all the right places and made everything so much more real; it cast a pale glow over everything, including themselves.

"Oi, Granger, just so we're clear," said Draco suddenly. "Just because I don't hate you doesn't mean that I like you."

Hermione looked at him in amusement. "Oh really, Malfoy? Because I was under the impression that those kisses were yourway of telling me that you dolike me."

"Is _that_ what you think?"

"Yeah," said Hermione. She raised an eyebrow. "I think you like me a _lot_."

"A little," smirked Draco, turning away so that she would see him grin. "But not enough for you to brag about, Granger."

* * *

A large glass bowl of colorful jellybeans was sitting on the table; Fibby had disposed of all the bad flavors from every last bag of candy and had arranged all the good flavors in front of Theo where he sat across from Pansy in his living room. She wasn't eating any and merely sat very stilly, staring at Theo with such concentration he thought she was going to set him on fire at any given instant.

"What?" asked Theo uninterestedly.

"I need your help with Draco," said Pansy without hesitation. Her tone was determined.

"I thought I told you to give up," muttered Theo. He popped a few jellybeans into his mouth and chewed slowly. "Didn't you get my owl?"

Pansy scoffed. "Of course," she said. "_And _I must thank you for telling me who the girl was. Granger?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders at her. "You should have heard some of the things he said about her…he seems pretty happy."

"So you're just going to _let_ him date a Mudblood?" asked Pansy incredulously. Her face was livid with rage.

Theo nodded impassively, not looking at her.

Pansy was not impressed. She jumped up, stomped her foot on the floor and Theo snapped to attention, his eyes wide at the sight of her furious expression. "Theo!" shrieked Pansy, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are completely missing the point here! Aren't you supposed to be Draco's friend? We have to look out for him!"

"I _am,_" insisted Theo, "by telling _you _to leave him alone!"

"Ha!" laughed Pansy bitterly. "You think Mudblood Granger is a step up from me?"

"I think the Giant Squid is a step up from you," countered Theo harshly.

Pansy pursed her lips, trying not to cry. "Draco can't stay with her, anyway. She's a Mudblood! His father will disown him!"

"So he'll grow out of it! You're taking this too seriously!" shouted Theo. "Can't you see, Pansy? This has nothing to do with Granger. This is about _you_."

"Just stop, Theo," snapped Pansy, glaring at him. "Look, you help me with this and I _promise_ that I'll leave you alone from now on."

Theo rolled his eyes and tossed another handful of jellybeans into his mouth. "What do you want?" he asked after he had finished chewing.

"I just need _one _more small favor," Pansy simpered, her voice sickly sweet. She brushed her hand against Theo's arm, and he cringed.

"What?" he demanded.

"Just a love potion," she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes. Theo's eyes grew wide like saucers as he realized what Pansy was up to.

"Fuck no, Pansy," he snarled, turning away from her. "You're that desperate? No way in hell am I letting you do that to Draco."

"Why _not_?" she moaned desperately, letting out a disgruntled sigh. "Please, Theo." She leaned into kiss him, but Theo roughly pushed her away.

"I'm not helping you," he said firmly, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "And one more thing, Pansy…I'm _done_ with you."

She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, but she quickly regained her composure. "F-fine," she managed, her voice feeble. "I never even liked you. But you _have to_ help me with Draco. Please!"

"No."

"I'll tell your girlfriend you were cheating on her with me. _And _with her cousins," threatened Pansy.

He only looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I know you a little better than that, my dear. You'd never do that."

"Theo," she begged. "I'm asking you...as a friend."

Theo shook his head solemnly. "Look, I don't know what you're planning, Pansy"—he held a hand up to stop her from speaking, as she'd just opened her mouth to say something—"but I do not want any part of it, and I highly advise you to leave Draco alone."

"You have no idea how brilliant my plan is," said Pansy.

"Great," muttered Theo. "Well, have you given any thought to the fact that love potions are extremely difficult to brew, and that you'll need to keep him drinking it twice every day at least? And that if you choose to buy it regularly instead of brew it yourself, the cost would be enormous?"

"Oh, I won't need him to drink the potion every day." Pansy smiled deviously. "You have _no idea_, as I said, how brilliant my plan is."

Theo watched as Pansy calmly left the room, her green cloak trailing behind her. Theo had a feeling he was about to find out what Pansy's brilliant plan was very, very soon.

* * *

The front door to Parkinson Hall slammed shut with a loud _BANG_. Pansy was still furious at Theo for refusing to help her. Not even stopping to greet her mother, who was sitting in the parlor reading the _Daily Prophet_, Pansy marched down the corridor with only one thing on her mind…that love potion. She had already looked up the perfect one yesterday.

She turned the next corner and stormed down her father's private corridor; he kept all his most precious valuables in these rooms. Pansy wasn't allowed to be in here, but he was at work, and for the time being, Pansy didn't care in the slightest if she was breaking the rules.

"If Theo doesn't want to help me, fine," muttered Pansy angrily, stomping into her father's storeroom where he kept his cauldrons and potions ingredients. "If Granger's the problem, I'll fix it, with or without Theo's help."

Still shaking slightly with anger, she roughly grabbed a size 3 pewter cauldron from the bottom shelf and set it atop the burning blue flame she conjured up just under the cauldron stand. The book she'd been looking at yesterday was still open next to her.

"_Start with a base of lavender oil and rose water_…" read Pansy, running her finger under the line of text as she read it. She opened the cupboard above her and found the two items, measured them carefully, and poured them in. She read the next line…she needed to cast a spell on it, she saw, and so she waved her wand over the cauldron, repeated the incantation, and watched as the potion immediately began bubbling.

For the next three hours, Pansy sat in front of the cauldron, sweating dripping from her brow as she worked. This potion had been the easiest of the love potions she'd found, but it was still extremely difficult.

Three hours later, she had reached the last page of instructions. Pansy's hands hovered over the simmering cauldron, which was now emitting soft smoke rings that smelled of lavender. Double-checking the ingredient she was holding with the label in the textbook, she poured in a few drops of Essence of Unicorn Hair. The potion immediately turned a beautiful shade of rose. Deciding that she liked what the Essence of Unicorn Hair did to the potion, she shrugged and dumped the rest of the phial's contents inside the cauldron. The potion turned dark green.

"That wasn't supposed to happen…" mused Pansy. Potion-making had never been her strong suit. Perhaps _that _was why she hadn't taken Advanced Potions with Draco, Theodore, Blaise and Daphne in her sixth year. Ah yes, that would explain it. And she'd never even learned how to brew Amortentia as a result of it, even though the love potion she was making right now—Amorsemprea—was far less complicated.

Her dark black eyes scanned the next line of ingredients—the recipe called for two small Ashwinder's eggs next. Pansy pursed her lips thoughtfully and grabbed the small box of eggs, but to her dismay she nearly dropped the box and ended up sending every last egg into the potion. Pansy swore as she saw seven or eight eggs fall into the cauldron. The concoction hissed violently and turned dark red, and the gentle smoke rings had now turned into a thick cloud of dark grey smoke. Pansy shrugged and wafted the smoke away—red was as least close to pink—and began stirring the potion clockwise.

She looked down at the book and swore again. She was supposed to stir it _counterclockwise_.

Pansy quickly changed directions, but it was too late…the dark red was now an even deeper scarlet, so dark it was almost black. Pansy looked desperately around the room for something that might salvage her pathetic potion.

With a heavy sigh, she got up from her seat and walked over to the cupboard. Reaching all the way into the back, she knocked around several bottles before her hands closed around the one she was looking for. Smiling to herself, she pulled out the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey. It wasn't meant for potions, she knew, but that didn't matter to her.

"This should do it," she said happily, and poured the last of the Firewhiskey into the potion. She figured if he didn't fall in love with her, and least he'd be drunk enough to assume he had. She didn't need him to fall in love with her forever, anyway. The potion turned a pale red, not quite pink or lavender as Amorsemprea was supposed to be, but Pansy, as usual, found it quite easy to pretend.

* * *

_I usually never leave author's notes at the end of a chapter, but I'm just curious to see if anyone knows what Pansy's plan is? ;D I promise it's nothing _too _terrible..._


	13. My Strings They Tangled Into Knots

**Author's Note: **I wasn't even aware it'd been over a week since my last update! -_- I've been so busy with college work and am still having trouble adapting, but the good thing is that I love my classes and my schedule :) I can't wait until things cool down a bit; I just need to find a way to balance my time among everything I do. On the bright side, this is the longest chapter I've written for this fic, I believe. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve  
**_My Strings They Tangled Into Knots_

_"All war is based on deception."  
__- Sun Tzu_

* * *

It was strange how Draco and Hermione never seemed to be tired, even at five in the morning on a Thursday. They'd been sitting there on the edge of the playground for nearly an hour, just talking and holding hands, letting the moonlight cleanse them of their deepest insecurities. Suddenly, Hermione seemed to remember something and sat upright from where she'd been leaning on Draco's shoulder.

"Have you seen my _Hogwarts, A History_?" asked Hermione, looking around the grass where she was sitting. It was dark, so she felt around the ground with her hands, but still she found nothing. Draco helped search too, only he lit the area with his wand.

"You use magic for everything," Hermione rebuked, watching him as he held the lit tip of his wand above the grass. "Every little thing."

"Do you want your book or not? I just needed some light," argued Draco. "You're far too Muggle, you know that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You don't give Muggles enough credit, you know. They've invented things to help them get by without magic…I don't suppose you've heard of planes?"

"No, I haven't," said Draco. "And I'm not really interested, but I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me anyway—"

"Planes are the Muggle way of traveling across the world to wherever they need to go," Hermione explained, cutting him off. "It's really incredible if you think about it from a wizard's standpoint; they've built giant mechanical contraptions that can transport hundreds of people at a time across thousands of miles…"

"Mecha-what?" mumbled Draco, still waving his wand around looking for Hermione's book. Hermione had stopped looking and was instead still rambling on about aero-whatsits and other Muggle things. "Oh, there it is," said Draco, tilting his head towards the bench. "You must have left it there earlier. Good thing I had my _wand_, right Hermione?"

"Thanks, Draco. And sure," she agreed reluctantly, but she had a cheerful expression as she got up to go retrieve the book. Draco, however, stopped her by grabbing onto the hem of her robes.

"Here, let me…" Draco raised his wand and muttered, "_Accio_."

Hermione gave him a disapproving look and pressed her lips together crossly. "As I said, every little thing!" she exclaimed, taking the book from him as he held it out to her proudly. "I could have _walked_ over and gotten the book! Did you really need magic for that?"

"Why not?" aid Draco, grinning up at her. But Hermione was staring off into space; Draco could practically see the gears in her mind whirring at top speed. With glassy eyes, she sat down next to him on the grass.

"It's unfortunate," sympathized Hermione, her voice a low mutter, "but I'm afraid I've no choice…"

"What on earth are you talking about, Hermione?"

"Dear, dear," clucked Hermione, shaking her head sadly. "You're going to have to come with me into the _Muggle World_."

Draco suddenly was overcome by a terrible fit of coughing. He punched himself in the chest a few times, trying to clear his throat, then finally managed, "_What_ did you say, Granger?"

"You're going to spend a day without magic," said Hermione happily, "with me."

"I'm alright with the last bit…"

Hermione swatted him playfully on the arm. "Come off it, I'll be fun."

Draco threw his hands up in the air. "If you say so," he relented, shaking his head at her with considerably good cheer despite the horrid punishment she was sentencing him to.

At his agreement, Hermione beamed. Merlin, that smile of hers got him every time.

Hermione laid her head once more across his shoulder and said, "When are you free?"

"Well…today," said Draco. "After I get some sleep, anyhow. It's Thursday. I don't work."

"Perfect," glowed Hermione. "I can easily take the day off."

Draco snickered at her statement. "Merlin, Granger," he laughed, resting his own head atop hers. "If you worked any more at that place they'd have to start paying you."

"Quiet, you." She smiled. "Tomorrow. Will you meet me at my apartment around eleven?"

"Do I have a choice?" drawled Draco in mock-annoyance, but he was smiling too.

Reaching into her purse, Hermione took out a spare bit of parchment and a Self-Inking quill and jotted her address down. "There," she said, handing it to him. "It's fairly close to the Ministry, pretty easy to find."

"Eleven it is," said Draco, pocketing the piece of parchment. "Should I bring flowers and a box of chocolates, too?" Hermione rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, but she was trying to hide the fact that his suggestion had made her relatively uneasy.

"It depends," Hermione answered nervously, and had Draco looked closer he might have detected the glint of apprehension behind her eyes. "Is this a date, Malfoy?"

Draco formed his words slowly, enjoying the confusion marked on her face. "It would be," he said, "were it not for one tiny fact…" He leaned in close, as if it were a secret. "I don't like you, remember?"

She took advantage of the fact that he was in such close proximity to her and pressed her lips softly against his, leaning into him and shutting her eyes just as she saw his own flicker shut. The kiss lasted just the perfect amount of time. When Hermione pulled away, she was pleased to see his bemused expression looking back at her.

"Right," she conceded with a smirk. "You don't like me at all."

* * *

With a steady finger, Draco rang the doorbell to Hermione's flat. It was 10:58 AM; he was early, but the door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Hermione dressed in a light blue dress that fell just past her knees. Letting out a slight grunt, Draco thrust the bouquet of pure white orchids he was holding in her direction. Startled, she took it.

"You…" She couldn't help but smile. "You brought flowers…" Hermione brought them up towards her face to inhale the scent. "And they're orchids. Orchids mean—"

"Yeah, yeah, alright, I know what orchids mean," sneered Draco, pushing past her and entering her apartment. "I'm actually pretty good with flowers, would you believe it? My mother spent a lot of time in the garden before she died."

Hermione stopped short at these words. She hadn't known that Draco had lost his mother. Seeing the pained look on his face, she chose not to question him any further. She rested her hand on his arm, and Draco brought his eyes to hers and said, "Don't worry about it, Hermione."

"You've got to change into Muggle clothes," Hermione said firmly, changing the subject so that she wouldn't have to see the sadness in his eyes anymore. It was a different sadness than the one that existed when he talked about the war, and Hermione didn't want him to feel it anymore.

Draco looked stunned. "Muggle clothes?"

"You _can't_ go cavorting around London in those robes, Draco." And without another word she bounded down the hallway to get the clothes she'd purchased for him earlier in the morning.

With Hermione gone for the moment, Draco had a chance to properly examine her flat. It was relatively small, but she kept it clean and tidy, and there were several pictures of her with her family and friends lining the walls of the living room, which held a small television set and several lumpy armchairs. She had a small kitchen all the way in the back with a tiny window that overlooked the tennis courts outside; the windowsill was lined with small flowerpots. To the left of the kitchen, a hallway turned into what Draco assumed were the restroom and Hermione's bedroom.

"Here!" Hermione had just appeared from the hallway, waving two foreign articles of clothing in the air. Draco winced. "For you," she said, and shoved the offending articles under his nose.

"Those?" Draco eyed the Muggle dress shirt and jeans gingerly. Light blue vertical stripes ran up and down the white seersucker fabric of the shirt. The jeans were a darker wash and looked secondhand. "Hermione, but it's so…_banal_. And those trousers don't even look new."

"You can't buy jeans that look new without looking insane. It's just the style these days," Hermione insisted, thrusting the outfit toward him.

Draco groaned and took the clothes. They felt strange in his hands. The pants felt heavy and seemed to be uncomfortable. "Alright, Granger, how much do I owe you for this lovely outfit, then?"

"Nothing, consider it a gift," she said, smirking despite herself. "It was on sale anyway."

His eyes widened as this fact struck him hard. He looked at the outfit skeptically again. Draco Malfoy was a man of wealth and substantial pride. And he'd certainly never bought anything on sale.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked halfheartedly. Hermione responded by pushing him down the hallway and into the bathroom.

"Don't you _dare_ come out without those clothes on!" she called through the keyhole, silently giggling to herself.

"Can I come out without any clothes on?"

"Draco Malfoy, you pig!" she scolded, her voice stern yet somehow managing to retain a ghost of its previous joviality. "And the answer is no!"

Hermione waited patiently outside while he got changed, yet ten minutes later, he still had not emerged. She sighed at the clock and knocked thrice on the door.

"In a _minute_," he called out testily.

"Must you always dwell so unashamedly when it comes to your hair?" Hermione sighed in exasperation. "I swear you're worse than a girl."

"I am _not_ working on my hair, Granger!" protested Draco from behind the door. "There are…the shirt, it's just…so many buttons…"

Hermione giggled and knocked again on the door. "Are you saying that you don't know how to fasten buttons, Draco Malfoy?" she asked gleefully.

"Of course not," countered Draco snappishly, still not opening the door. "I'm merely unaccustomed to having to fasten so many at once…why can't Muggles use _clasps_, like on robes, they're more practical…"

"Come outside," Hermione ordered gently.

"I don't need your help, Granger," he grumbled, but Hermione saw the door open just a crack. She pushed it open and saw that while Draco had gotten his jeans on just fine, he'd only buttoned three of the shirt buttons and had fastened them into the wrong button holes, so that the shirt was entirely too askew. Hermione started laughing.

"Wow, you…well, great," she managed between giggles. Draco frowned at her, his cheeks flushed with pink. "Here," she said in a softer tone, walking over to him and undoing his shirt buttons, exposing his bare chest. "Like this."

And she began fastening them one by one, concentrating very deeply on the task…so much so, in fact, that she did not notice Draco's intense gaze upon her, nor did she notice the softness of his eyes and expression or the way that his hand supported her arm just under her elbow as she dressed him. Draco watched her, and suddenly he felt very calm, as if the stress of buttoning stupid Muggle shirts had suddenly disappeared.

Oh, he definitely didn't hate her anymore.

She smoothed his shirt down when she'd finished and gave him the once-over. Nodding her head curtly in approval, she took his hand. With Draco properly dressed, they could leave. Hermione shooed him out the door and turned down all the lights, grabbing her beaded purse on the way out. But just before she shut the door, her eyes caught sight of the orchids she had placed in an empty vase on the living room coffee table.

Hermione was far from a botanist, but her wide range of reading material had taught her roughly what the flowers meant…

_All that I have, I lay at your feet._

* * *

And so the two acquaintances, who were by now a little more friendly with each other, walked down the streets of London. At one point, Draco's hand brushed against Hermione's, and she blushed, but the two continued to walk as though nothing had happened. A few minutes after that, Draco swung his hand over and grabbed Hermione's, and the two strolled down the sidewalk holding hands. As per Hermione's instructions, both of them had left their wands at Hermione's house.

"Do Muggles always walk so damn much?" Draco wondered bitterly.

"The café is just up there," said Hermione, upbeat despite her companion's negative remarks. She had to take one and a half strides for each of Draco's. "I thought we'd stop for some lunch first and then go see a movie."

"A _what_?"

"Just go with it," said Hermione, and pushed open the door to the café. Draco looked around the quaint little eatery. There was a long seafoam-colored counter that stretched from one end of the café to the other, lined with about a dozen silver stools; there were black leather booths on the sides with seafoam ceramic tables; and the restaurant was noticeably empty.

Draco said nothing but raised his eyebrows at the girl who'd brought him here.

"Sit," she ordered, dragging him over to the counter. She flagged down a busty blonde waitress with dangerously curly hair. "Two root beers, please. And a couple of roast beef sandwiches."

"Root beer?" repeated Draco when the waitress had bustled away. "Is that anything like butterbeer?"

"You'll see," said Hermione. She turned around in her stool so that she was facing the large glass windows of the café. Draco watched as her eyes roamed the streets, watching the people as they passed her by.

Suddenly, her gaze fell on someone, and her eyes glinted.

"Quick," said Hermione, swatting Draco on the arm until he turned his attention to her. Hermione pointed discreetly to a middle-aged woman walking outside on the sidewalk, her hair tied back with a floral scarf. She was clutching a large black patent leather handbag as well as several shopping bags.

"What?" asked Draco, squinting his eyes at the woman. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be looking at.

"Quick, see that woman there? Where do you think she's headed?"

"Er…" Draco was confused, but he decided to answer anyway. "I'd say she's headed home to celebrate her son's birthday, which she'd forgotten because she'd been busy buying presents for her pet terrier."

"Okay, how about that girl?" Hermione pointed to a teenage girl with spiked black and purple hair, probably around fifteen or sixteen. She was walking with an older unshaven boy with jet-black hair, several facial piercings and a heavy jacket. "What's one secret she's keeping from her boyfriend?"

Draco pretended her to study the girl for a moment. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, and Hermione giggled at his antics. "She still sleeps with a stuffed teddy," he decided finally, sitting back in his chair and grinning. "He'd stop liking her if he knew, so she hides it every time he comes over."

"Nice," commented Hermione. "My turn."

"Er, alright…" Draco scoped out the area for an interesting character. Finally his eyes settled on a lone man sitting at the counter just a few spots down from them. He dropped his voice to a whisper so that he wouldn't hear him. "What about him? What's his favorite pastime?"

Hermione glanced at him. "Collecting stamps. He's got a huge binder at home full of them, and his collection is the only reason he still writes letters to his relatives."

"Not bad, Granger."

"I used to play this game a lot with Ginny."

"Really?" Draco looked amused. "I guess we'll have to test your skills a bit further then…what about _that _girl?" He pointed once more outside at a brunette walking down the street dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She had the hood pulled up over her head, and Hermione could hardly see her face. Hermione looked at Draco.

"What's the question?" she asked.

Draco didn't hesitate. "Tell me something about her childhood."

"Well," Hermione said slowly, buying her time, "when she was little girl she nearly choked on a chicken bone, and since then she's been a strict vegetarian."

"Anything else?"

"She wanted to drop out of university last year, but she didn't because she sat next to a good-looking boy in molecular physics. He never asked her out, but now she's third in the class."

Draco only nodded. "Now you ask me, Hermione."

"That man there, what's he scared of? The man standing outside by the parking meter."

"The what?"

"_There_," sighed Hermione, pointing.

"The diagnosis is…" Draco narrowed his eyes as he observed the middle-aged man in his navy blue suit and tie. "Magic," he said. "He's afraid of magic and has been ever since he stumbled across two kids riding their broomsticks one afternoon. The mother modified his memory, but ever since then he's been a little uncomfortable around the supernatural."

"Alright," said Hermione with an encouraging smile. "But mine are better…ask me again."

"Come off it, Granger, you went twice last time. You ask me."

"Okay." Hermione scrutinized the area, but Draco could tell by the lack of shine in her eyes that she hadn't found anyone particular interesting to analyze. Then, Hermione looked at him.

"Me," she said. Draco's jaw dropped a fraction of an inch, but just enough so that she didn't notice.

"What about you, Granger?"

Hermione looked at him resolutely, her chin held high and her eyes clear. "The girl in the light blue dress sitting next to the blond man in the pastry shop," she said, her expression static. "Who does she fancy?"

Draco pretended to think. "This is a tough one, Granger," he said, but she didn't crack a smile. "I'd have to say that depends on who the blond man fancies, now, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," acceded Hermione. "Now tell me something about the blond man she's with."

"Well, he thinks the girl in the light blue dress is considerably good company," said Draco. "And earlier today, he told her that this outing was most certainly not a date."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in response.

He couldn't wipe the smirk off his face as he said it—"Don't go telling the bushy-haired siren," he said, keeping his voice low, "but this is very much a date for the blond man, he just won't admit it to her."

Thankfully the waitress arrived at that precise moment with their root beers and sandwiches, so Hermione was able to take a long sip from her drink and hope that Draco hadn't seen her cheeks flush violently red.

* * *

She'd been watching him for quite some time now.

Her beady black eyes fixed themselves upon the sidewalk, and she stared relentlessly, watching from the Leaky Cauldron's least dusty window.

"Miss Parkinson?" Pansy's eyes darted upwards as she glanced at Tom the bartender, who was holding out another glass of butterbeer towards her. "This one's on the house. I expect you're waiting on someone?"

"Naturally," she answered coldly, taking the mug from Tom and bringing it to her lips. She took a long sip from it, letting the warmth of the beverage wash over her. She watched as Tom ambled off to help another customer sitting at the counter.

She pulled her cloak closer to her. Pansy had been following Draco all day. By means of Disillusionment Charms and other handy spells she'd brushed up on the night before, Pansy had gone undetected for the entire duration of the couple's outing. She'd disguised herself as a Muggle outside the café where they'd eaten lunch; she'd followed them to the film they'd watched; she'd sat patiently at an adjacent table, her cloak pulled over her head, as they'd eaten dinner.

She'd waited long enough.

Now Draco was about to head home; she'd watched him when he'd walked back to Granger's flat with her to retrieve his wand and his cloak. It was at that moment that Pansy had pointed her wand at him and muttered, "_Confundo_."

"Goodnight, Hermione," Draco had said, blinking his eyes rapidly. "I think I shall just stop at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink before I head home."

Without hesitation, Pansy had Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron to await his arrival.

And now she watched and waited until she would see her future husband walking down the street and entering the Leaky Cauldron.

She saw the flash of blond; soon the door had opened and he was walking inside. Pansy quickly pulled her hood down to shield her eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy!" roared Tom happily, giving Pansy a side wink. "Sit down, have a drink! What'll it be for you tonight?"

"The usual, Tom," muttered Draco weakly, sitting down on the stool next to Pansy and looking slightly confused. "I've actually got to go home soon…"

"One tall Blishen's Firewhiskey it is," said Tom, plunking down the glass on the table and collecting Draco's four Sickles.

Pansy watched hungrily as he took a sip… This would be worth the inordinate amount of money she'd paid Tom to serve him the Amorsemprea instead… He swallowed his drink… His eyes immediately glazed over.

"Pansy," said Draco to Tom, and Pansy felt herself get weak at the knees just listening to him say her name in that loving tone, as though he were caressing it. "Have you seen Pansy Parkinson? I…I have to find her…"

Pansy's lips curled into a smile. Slowly, she brought her hood down and turned to Draco.

"I'm right here, darling," she whispered. But something wasn't right.

Draco's face was cast with a glow of adoration for her, certainly, but his skin looked waxen and paler than usual.

And he fell, almost in slow motion, draping his arms around her and sinking himself into her. Pansy struggled to keep him upright.

"Pansy…" His voice made it sound as though he were choking. Pansy looked at him and had the horrifying realization that something had gone unspeakably wrong. As Draco's hands clutched her shoulders, his fingers trembled and he was foaming slightly at the mouth. His eyes were opened wide, not seeing.

"TOM!" Pansy shrieked. "Sweet Merlin, _TOM_! Help!"

But Tom had already busied himself with another customer and was deaf to Pansy's calls, not wanting to get involved. Swearing, Pansy pulled out her wand and began to levitate Draco upstairs to the room that she'd already rented for the night.

Halfway up the stairs, Draco turned over in midair and threw up onto the cold stone stairs. Pansy screamed and almost dropped him, but she held her wand just a little higher.

All she'd wanted was to have sex with him tonight.

All she'd wanted was for him to think he was in love with her…just for one night. She'd just wanted him to wake up next to her in the morning and remember what had happened… That way, when the baby arrived, he'd have no trouble believing that it was really _his_…

She laid him gently on the bed, smoothing the covers around him. He was still conscious, and he certainly did seem to express an interest in her…he kept pulling on her hair, which Pansy assumed was a good sign… Maybe her plan would work after all…

As if in answer, Draco leaned over the side of the bed and threw up at her feet.

Pansy whimpered and wiped the mess clean with her wand. Gingerly, she sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at him.

She would never be able to say how long she sat there, staring at his immobile body and hoping that he'd survive. He kept reaching up to twirl her hair around his finger, giving her vacant smiles.

An hour later, he still did not look any better, though he'd fallen asleep holding Pansy's hand. Pansy shut her eyes firmly, not able to bring herself to look at Draco's motionless form lying on the bed. He moaned slightly, turning over in his sleep and batting the pillow away from his face. His naturally pale face was now wan and greenish; he'd vomited several times in the past hour.

He stirred slightly.

He was waking up, Pansy realized. She had to do it now.

Her fingers moved to the buttons at the neck of her robes. With shaking hands, she undid the clasps until she was undressed. Only in recently-purchased lingerie from the new section of Madam Malkin's, she slid onto the bed, sidling up next to him.

A stray tear fell from her eye as she reached out a hand to undo his shirt. It was a horrid thing, that Muggle shirt… She took it off him and laid it beside her own clothes. She then rested her head across his bare chest, her dark hair spread out like a fan. Slowly, she pulled the bed covers across the both of them, up to her chin. Pansy trailed a lazy finger down the length of Draco's torso, but he was too drunk and passed out to respond. Pansy cursed herself for not buying the love potion…Potions had never been her strong suit, and she shouldn't have poured the Firewhiskey in…

She wasn't going to have his baby tonight.

Pansy sighed, running her hands up and down his body. He didn't stir. She should have gone about this all some other way… Pansy had never been the brightest girl in her class. She tucked her hair behind her ear and repeated the phrase to herself like a mantra.

"I'm not having your baby tonight," she said, looking at Draco. Instead of being disappointed, however, another plan presented itself without fail. She really wished she'd been this quick-minded at Hogwarts.

She wasn't having his baby tonight…she wasn't going to sleep him tonight…but _he _didn't know that.

Suddenly, Pansy had another plan. One that would ensure that she _did _have Draco Malfoy's baby.

Pansy smiled widely and pressed her lips to his, crushing into him. Draco groaned feebly and turned onto his side. Pansy pretended to pout and smacked him playfully on the arm, resting her head once again against his chest. She could stay here forever. Reaching upwards, she grasped a few strands of his hair and pulled—_hard_. He didn't even respond. Conjuring up a glass phial, she carefully dropped the strands inside.

Her cold, black eyes fixed themselves on the white-blond strands, glittering under the candlelight. A few strands would be all she needed…all she needed to obtain the exact color…the precise shade of ashen gold…

"I love you, Draco," she cooed.

At this, Draco groaned louder and opened his eye the tiniest slit. "I love you, Hermione."

It didn't take Pansy a lot of imagination to pretend that he'd said her name instead.

* * *

_To everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Well, there you have it! Most of you got it right, probably because I hinted at it like _mad_...as for the other theories, I found all of them interesting and I wish I'd thought of them before! As always, I love feedback; it's great to hear about what you liked, didn't like...or in this case, what you're dreading! :)_


	14. And If I Don't Come Home Tonight

**Author's Note: **I was going to post this last night, but something came up and I, er, forgot. So here it is-the next installment. Unfortunately updates will be a bit more sporadic from now on, as college work is catching up to me and I haven't had much time to write. I'm really hoping that I get some free time soon. Sorry, guys! For now, enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen  
**_And If I Don't Come Home Tonight_

_

* * *

_

The sun streamed through the window almost shyly, barely making its way past the slit between the closed drapes of the room in the Leaky Cauldron. The room itself was fairly silent, but the sounds from outside were making their way inside quite rudely.

Draco groaned at the sound of birds chirping outside, forcing him to wake up. His head hurt. A lot.

He tried to think back to what had happened yesterday. Immediately he smiled. He'd seen Hermione yesterday, hadn't he? Yes, and they'd gone out to eat, they'd played the people game, and it had been a very good day overall…

With his eyes still closed, he tried to pull the covers more snugly around him. He frowned. These weren't his sheets…his were a lot softer, purchased from the high-end bedding section of Twilfitt and Tatting's. These sheets were coarse and nowhere near as comfortable. Suddenly, he felt the brush of hair against his face.

_Hermione_?

He considered this, smiling to himself. Perhaps after dinner they'd gone back to her place… Strange, he distinctly remembered going to her flat to pick up his wand. He remembered leaving, but he didn't remember going back… Perhaps she'd come back to his place? He smiled even wider. That didn't seem right, but Draco wasn't about to contest it. Perhaps they'd used another room. Yes, that must be it. They were probably in the guest room.

He heard the creak of the mattress as Hermione got up off the bed.

Draco's eyelid cracked open a fraction of an inch. "Whazzat?" he muttered sleepily, turning over on his side to face the wall again. He was so tired…

"Morning, Draco," chirped Pansy cheerily.

Draco's eyes snapped open at the eerily familiar voice. That wasn't Hermione. Terrified out of his wits, Draco slowly rolled himself over—

"BLOODY HELL PANSY! HOW THE _FUCK_ DID YOU GET INTO MY HOUSE!"

Pansy jumped back in shock at his outburst. "This is the Leaky Cauldon, prat!" she retorted, her eyes darkening as she stuck her nose up in the air. Then her expression softened, and she looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes. "You…you don't remember anything from last night?"

At her words, Draco bolted out of bed and stood facing her, scanning the room. It was terribly small and smelled of damp herbs, and the floor beneath him was cold and uncarpeted. There was one solitary window on the wall opposite the front door, but the dusty burgundy drapes were still not drawn.

_How did I get here_? thought Draco frantically. He couldn't remember a damn thing. All he knew was that he felt extremely queasy; his stomach felt as though it were folding itself neatly into tiny squares, and he could barely stand up straight because of the discomfort.

Then he looked down at himself. He was shirtless; he saw the Muggle shirt Hermione had given him lying dejectedly on the floor. His jeans were folded neatly on the chair next to the bed. Standing in nothing but his boxers, Draco glared at Pansy.

"Pansy…" warned Draco, pointing menacingly at her with his shaking finger. "Do not fuck with me…"

"You were drinking last night," Pansy blurted out, trying to feign a look of sympathy. "It was terrible, Draco, so I brought you here, I only wanted you to sober up, I swear! But then you…" Pansy let her voice trail off and tried to look embarrassed, hoping that Draco believed her so far.

She smirked inwardly when she saw Draco's look of horror. "What…what happened last night? Answer me!" he barked, his voice wavering.

"Oh, Draco," she sniffled. "I didn't want to, but I'd been drinking a little too, and I promise not to tell anyone, we can just forget that we ever—"

"Do _not _tell me that we had sex last night, Parkinson," Draco cut in. His head began to hurt again, his brain pounding against his skull. He felt as though his stomach had disintegrated.

She only looked at him and shrugged helplessly.

"Shit," said Draco under his breath. Then he buckled over and threw up on the floor.

* * *

"Hey, prick," said Pansy, closing the door the Theo's bedroom as she entered. He was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, seemingly bored out of his mind. He raised his eyes towards her in a way of greeting.

"Hello, Pansy," said Theo. "Do me a favor. Get out of my house?"

"I just came to tell you that my plan is about to work," said Pansy, ignoring Theo's request and turning up her nose in distaste. "Trust me, I really do _not _want to be here."

"Did you abort my kid yet?"

"No," said Pansy coldly. "And I'm not going to."

At this statement, Theo snorted rather loudly and shook his head dismissively. Pansy kept silent, boring her eyes into him in the most intense and calculating gaze possible. She stared at him like a hawk, moving closer towards him; he scooted over on the bed instinctively, and she sat down next to his horizontal body. She placed her hands on either side of him and positioned herself so that she was right on top of him, her knees locked on either side of his legs, breathing down on him with her eyes full of malice and darkened glee.

"You think I should abort my baby?" she whispered with a smirk.

Theo rolled his eyes and started to push her off him, but she held fast to his wrists. "Yeah," he grunted. "You should abort my baby; I'm sure as hell not going to take care of it."

"It's not _your_ baby, Theo," she continued to whisper. "It's not your baby anymore."

"Pansy, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I said it's not your damn baby," she spat, releasing his wrists and getting up from the bed. She stood up and walked over to Theo's desk, rifling through the pieces of parchment stacked sloppily next to the inkwell. Pansy gave Theo a furtive glance. "You look confused," she said.

"I thought you said it couldn't be anyone else's," muttered Theo in a low, confused voice. "You said I was the only possible father…"

"Draco and I had sex," said Pansy simply, waiting to see his reaction, and she got her wish—Theo's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his skull.

"You _WHAT_?" he roared, springing up from the bed and almost falling off in his excitement. He settled back down, sitting upright. Pansy smiled at him peacefully, twirling a quill around her fingers. She cocked her head to the side; her smile widened dangerously.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't tell Granger," said Pansy, a malevolent gleam in her eyes. "It was that love potion," she giggled happily. "Last night…"

"Last night," Theo repeated in a flat tone. Then his expression relaxed again. "Pansy, don't be daft. If it was only last night, Draco can't be the father, honestly."

"_He_ doesn't know that."

At these words, everything fell silent and Theo stared.

"All _he _knows is that he woke up next to me this morning with no clothes on," she continued brightly, setting the quill down on the desk with all the others scattered on top. "You should have seen him bolt out of the room when I told him that we had sex. From his point of view, he's on very thin ice right now. In fact, he's probably wondering right now if he remembered to cast a birth-control charm on me last night…"

Theo slowly began shaking his head. His jaw hung open; his face was expressionless.

"And in one month," she enthused, her eyes sparkling with malevolence, "I'll go find Draco at Flourish and Blotts…and I'll tell him I'm _pregnant_."

"Pansy…" Theo murmured.

"You've dropped your jaw on the floor, dear," said Pansy sweetly.

"You're insane," said Theo.

Pansy giggled. "I'm brilliant; he'll think it's his."

"That's stupid. There are so many things wrong with your plan. First of all, the girl will have black hair…look at us."

It was true, as both Pansy and Theo had hair as dark as night. But at this comment, Pansy pulled out the vial. Theo stared at it, slowly comprehending; the golden strands of hair encased in the crystal vial fell in Theo's line of vision and he shook his head more firmly still.

"You are a monster," he stated calmly, watching Pansy continue to twirl the quill around her fingers, humming softly to herself. "You'd really do that to Draco? You'd lie about the baby?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" answered Pansy.

"And what if I tell him?" Theo remarked abrasively, giving her a look of pure disgust. "I'll tell him you lied…"

"Then everyone will know the baby is really yours," said Pansy with mock sympathy, pouting her lips and then laughing coldly. "You can either let me win…or you can lose."

Theo was silent for just a brief moment as he pondered this. He could just come clean…but that would jeopardize his relationship with Sophie and ultimately his fortune…and Theo doubted Draco's thing with Granger would last anyway. "Fine," said Theo, "I won't say anything."

"That's what I thought."

He studied her, trying to understand the malevolent gleam in her usually dull black eyes. "You really did have sex with him last night, didn't you?" said Theo tonelessly.

Pansy smirked. "Of course." Pansy hoped that Theo wouldn't see past her lie.

"Get out of my house," ordered Theo. Pansy rolled her eyes, turned on her heel and Disapparated. The loud _CRACK _that followed echoed in Theo's ears, pounding repeatedly in his skull as he wondered what he could possibly do to stop this.

* * *

When Theo entered Flourish and Blotts, the first thing he noticed was Draco's absence. Draco's coworker Mart was off in the corner unpacking boxes while Cyrus, his boss, was helping customers. Theo narrowed his eyes and scanned the store once more—this was strange; Theo was almost certain that Draco worked most Fridays…

After Theo had kicked Pansy out of Nott Mansion, he'd Flooed over to Diagon Alley and walked the short distance to Flourish and Blotts to see Draco. Theo knew he couldn't tell Draco that _he _was the real father of Pansy's baby…he couldn't even tell Draco that Pansy was pregnant. As much as Theo hated himself for it, he would have to let Pansy go through with her plan…otherwise Theo would be hit with the consequences.

But Theo _could _tell Draco about the love potion, he figured. At least it would ease his conscience a little. Theo walked towards the back of the store where Cyrus was standing; the elderly man was now magicking dust off the shelves with his wand, paying great attention to his task. He looked up at the sound of Theo's footsteps.

"May I help you?" he asked in a friendly tone.

Theo nodded. "I'm looking for Draco Malfoy," he said. "He should be working."

"Ah," said Cyrus shortly, peering at Theo over his spectacles and squinting his eyes at him curiously. "Yes, Draco is resting in the lounge. He's been a little under the weather since he came into work an hour ago. Feel free to check on him if you like."

Cyrus directed Theo towards the workers' lounge. Right before Theo's hand turned the door handle open, he heard wretching sounds. He pushed open the door and saw Draco leaned over the side of the couch, his head buried in the wastebasket.

"Draco?"

He looked up at the sound of his name, and Theo could see that Draco looked terrible. His skin was a pale and sickly yellow, and he was trembling as he clutched the rim of the wastebasket with both hands.

"Hello," said Draco, then hunched back over and vomited once more.

"Bloody Merlin, what's wrong with you?" asked Theo, walking over to him and feeling his forehead; his skin was cold and clammy.

"Dunno," coughed Draco. "Been sick since this morning…can't remember anything…"

"You were with Pansy," said Theo in a low voice, and Draco looked up sharply.

"You _know_?" he asked in a panicked voice. The wastebasket clanged against the floor as Draco began to shake more violently. "Holy Hufflepuff, how many people has she been telling?"

Theo patted Draco roughly on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured him. "I'm the only one who knows…"

"Theo, I messed up," sputtered Draco, his voice weak and feeble. He seemed to struggle to form the words. "Fuck, I can't even remember what happened…I had such…such a g-great time with Hermione, I guess I thought I'd stop by the Leaky Cauldron for a quick drink…"

Theo was very silent.

"I was drunk. A-and then," Draco continued, coughing between sentences and gripping the wastebasket so tightly that his knuckles were white and his hands were shaking, "and then I…I think I must have…I slept with Pansy…"

Draco brought his eyes up to meet Theo's black ones. His face was etched with pain, and sweat was dripping from his brows as he shuddered silently. The room was not cold, but Theo knew that somehow Draco was very, very sick, perhaps just from the shock of what had happened.

"I didn't want to sleep with her, I didn't even know I slept with her…I care about _Hermione_, Theo…and now—"

"Draco, look," said Theo in a heavy tone. "You know this thing with Granger, whatever it is…you know it can't last, right?"

Draco stared at Theo for a brief moment before throwing up again in the wastebasket. He wrinkled his nose at the contents and cleared it away with his wand before heaving once more. "I never said I wanted anything to last," he managed to gasp out.

"Alright, but I know you." Theo shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he watched Draco throw up little by little. "I just felt that you should know she brewed a love potion and had Tom slip it into your drink last night," said Theo.

He met Theo's eyes, a look of horror and confusion on his face. The corners of his mouth were crusted with vomit. "What?" he asked blankly.

"She brewed a love potion," repeated Theo. "That's why you—that's why you had sex with her."

"You knew?" asked Draco softly, his voice so low that it sounded dangerous. He seemed to be extremely angry.

"No, I didn't," insisted Theo quickly. "Pansy came over this morning to brag about it to me. I kicked her out and came here as soon as I could. What's…what's wrong with you?"

Instead of answering, Draco vomited again.

Just then, the door to the workers' lounge burst open. Theo and Draco looked over and saw that Hermione had burst into the room with Mart right behind her. Hermione looked very worried.

"Draco!" she cried, and rushed over to him to take his temperature.

"I told her she wasn't allowed in," mumbled Mart, fidgeting awkwardly. "I said no visitors…"

"Bugger off, Mart," growled Draco, reaching up to hold Hermione's hand. Mart grunted and walked out of the lounge, leaving Hermione with Draco and Theo.

"Draco, what's wrong?" asked Hermione in a soothing tone, stroking his hair with her free hand and clutching his cold and sweaty hand with the other. "I came in to visit you, but your boss said you were sick and that you came in late. You never come in late, Draco."

Draco just shook his head; he looked as though he were about to cry.

Hermione turned to look at Theo. "What the hell happened?" she demanded coldly.

"Don't look at me," Theo shot back.

Draco grasped Hermione's arm with his other hand and pulled her down so that she was kneeling beside him. "Pansy," he gasped out. His voice was hoarse, sanded down from the amount of vomiting he'd done.

Hermione shook her head, not understanding. "What about Pansy?" she asked.

"Pansy tricked me into drinking a love potion," admitted Draco guiltily, though he conveniently forgot to mention the second part of the night. "Luckily for me she's terrible at potions, but as a result"—he bent over and promptly threw up into the cauldron he was holding—"I think I'm sick."

"A Potions reaction?" Hermione looked worried. "Grab hold of my hand, Draco, we're going to St. Mungo's."

Theo lifted his hand in protest. "You can't just—"

Hermione shot Theo a very nasty look. "It was very nice meeting you, Theodore," she said as politely as she could. She clutched Draco's arm in her hand and turned on her heel sharply, Apparating the two of them to St. Mungo's.

* * *

"I'm fine, Hermione, it'll stop eventually," insisted Draco, but as he spoke his arms were draped across her shoulders so that she could support his limp figure. Hermione wove through the crowd in the lobby, making her way to the front desk. St. Mungo's was relatively empty on this day, so there was no line.

"Potion poisoning," said Hermione.

"You'll want the third floor, then," drawled the Welcome Witch, not looking up from the newspaper she was reading. Hermione thanked her and made her way to the lift.

Hermione didn't have much difficulty hoisting Draco towards the elevator; he wasn't completely motionless and could still shuffle his feet around a bit. He was just tired, and he had to stop every few minutes to throw up on the floor. Hermione was getting a bit tired of the rude stares she got from other people, but she continued to clean up Draco's messes with her wand.

Finally, they reached the third floor. A dark-haired witch greeted them outside the ward. Hermione glanced at her nametag—it read '_Maribeth Mable, Mediwitch_.' Maribeth levitated Draco over to the nearest cot and magicked the covers over him. He hit the bed with a gentle thud and shuddered violently.

"What seems to be the problem?" asked Maribeth, furrowing her thin eyebrows as she examined him.

"He's been vomiting nonstop," said Hermione irritably, as though it were obvious.

"Was this a potion poisoning or a plant poisoning?"

"Potion," answered Hermione, making her way over to where Draco lay. "It was a love potion, actually, though I'm not sure what kind."

Maribeth gave Hermione a stern look.

"It wasn't _my _love potion!" protested Hermione hotly, and Maribeth relaxed. "It was another girl…I do know that she brewed it wrongly, though. She wasn't very bright in school."

"Alright," Maribeth nodded. "We'll run a test on the potion, obtain the list of ingredients and get to work on the antidote immediately. I expect you'll wish to stay here with Mr…?"

"Malfoy," said Hermione. Maribeth nodded, scribbled the name on a pad of parchment she was carrying in her breast pocket. She bent down, stuck an uncomfortable-looking metal instrument into Draco's mouth and then retrieved it. She read the words that had magically appeared on the instrument, made a disapproving '_tut, tut_' sound, and began to walk out of the room.

"We'll have the antidote ready in no time. I'll be sending another Healer shortly to draw some blood and make sure you two are alright," she called over her shoulder. Hermione nodded and sat down in the chair next to Draco's bed. He turned his face to look at her. His eyelids were half closed, and his lips were bluish and chapped. As he held her hands in his, she could feel that he was still cold and clammy.

"Please get well," she whispered.

Draco gave a loud, hacking cough, then settled down and said, "I'm not fragile, Granger, honestly. I'll be _fine_."

She smiled back weakly. She gripped his hand a little tighter as she heard the sound of the door swing open.

"_Hermione_?" Ginny had just entered the room wearing Healer's robes. She caught sight of Draco's pale and limp form, and her jaw dropped. Her eyes lingered on him for a second, then moved back to Hermione. Her gaze fell to Hermione's hand clasping Draco's, and she gasped. "What are you doing with _him_?"

Hermione stood up in shock at the sight of her friend. "Ginny, this—"

"What will Robert _think_?" Ginny had dropped the tray of refreshments she'd been carrying; the tea was spilt on the floor.

"Oh," Hermione sighed in relief. "That's what you're worried about. You see, Robert—"

"Hermione, what's going on?" groaned Draco miserably, screwing his eyes shut and pulling the covers over his head.

"You two are on first name terms, then?" concluded Ginny in horror, picking up the tray and stuffing it into one of the drawers by the door. "Goodness, Hermione, I don't suppose Robert knows that you're here with him?"

"This _is _Robert," said Hermione. Ginny froze. There was a split second of silence during which Draco grabbed the bucket next to his bed and vomited into it.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione continued, looking guilty. "It was a Glamour Charm…I thought it'd be fun…It was last minute when you owled asking me to go for coffee, and I already had plans with Draco and I didn't want to cancel, but I knew you'd be taken aback by the sight of him, and I meant to tell you—"

"It's fine, Hermione," said Ginny slowly, looking at Draco as he vomited again into the basin. "I'm more upset that you thought you had to lie to me. But if you don't mind my asking…" Ginny lowered her voice, "…why _Draco Malfoy_?"

Hermione looked Ginny straight in the eyes. "I don't know, Ginny. But that's the magic of it."

Ginny bit her lip. "Alright, Hermione…"

"Please don't tell Harry or Ron," begged Hermione. "I'll tell them eventually, but I want this to be a secret at first."

The redhead sighed and nodded reluctantly, agreeing. Hermione swept her up into a hug. Draco threw up again, and the sounds of his wretching seemed to wake both girls up from their embrace. Hermione rushed over to him and grasped his hands.

"How are you doing?" she asked nervously.

"Obviously not very well," croaked Draco. He jerked a thumb in Ginny's direction. "Does she approve of me?"

Hermione glanced quickly at Ginny. "Er, yes, of course," she said.

Ginny said nothing, but she shot Hermione a glare as if to say, _I can't believe you expect me to be alright with this_. Instead she walked towards Draco, carefully pricked his finger with a needle, and withdrew a small sample of his blood for St. Mungo's records.

Just then Maribeth Mable came striding across the ward, a tiny bottle of potion in her hand. She roughly tilted Draco's head back and poured the contents into his mouth. "That silly girl put Firewhiskey into the potion, can you believe it?" She shook her head. "Alcohol and Ashwinder's eggs make a nasty combination. But this simple antidote will do the trick."

Sure enough, the color was beginning to return in Draco's cheek. He was no longer the ghastly chalk color he'd been…he was now a healthy ivory, Hermione considered in amusement. Relieved, she flung her arms around his and kissed him on the cheek. Ginny cringed.

"Tell Weasley not to give me such dirty looks," grumbled Draco, raising an eyebrow in Ginny's direction.

Hermione gasped. "You just raised one eyebrow, Draco!"

"I suppose," he said. But he smiled.

"I was really, really worried about you," said Hermione. "Stupid Pansy and that love potion…it's lucky she's so daft, imagine if the love potion had actually worked?"

In response, he held her closer, trying to ignore the turbulent thoughts that were running through his head. So what if he'd had sex with Pansy? He could just forget about it. He was with Hermione now, and that was all that mattered. Try as Pansy might, she couldn't prove anything; Draco was confident that Hermione would always believe his word over hers.

He would just forget about his night with Pansy; he couldn't remember it anyway. He'd bury the notion in the back of his mind, just like he'd buried away History of Magic dates and useless spells and old memories he'd long since forgotten. This was just another small, insignificant memory that wouldn't matter by tomorrow.

Draco would soon find out that while it was possible to forget about a number of things, this was not one of them. He would fall asleep each night regretting that he had ever had sex with Pansy, unaware that the night in question would one day come back to haunt him.


	15. Just Know I Tried My Best to Fight

**Author's Note: **Unfortunately, we have a little bit of a problem. I used to write so that I was always four or five chapters ahead of whatever I was posting, but now with college work and midterms and homework, I'm afraid I've finally caught up. After this chapter, I'm going to have to start the next one from scratch, meaning it will take longer than I'd like it to. I don't know how long it will be until my next update, but I'll try my best to make sure it isn't too long. I do have good news, though! I was roughly planning out the second half of this fanfic and it turns out it's probably going to be a lot longer than I'd thought. Originally it was going to be about 25 chapters, but I think it might hit 30 or even go beyond that...we'll see though, because I'm not too sure.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I would have replied to everyone but to tell the truth it just slipped my mind, and it seems a little silly for me to reply now, doesn't it? XD

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen  
**_Just Know I Tried My Best to Fight_

_

* * *

_

The next few weeks were pleasant torture for Draco—pleasant because he spent a lot of time with Hermione, but torture because he kept thinking back to what he'd done with Pansy. Every time he would look at Hermione and gaze into those beautiful, trusting eyes, he'd cringe a little when he realized that he'd betrayed her. Not on purpose, but that didn't matter…betrayal was betrayal no matter what the circumstances.

Today was September 18th. Draco didn't have work because it was a Saturday, so he'd gone to Hermione's flat for some tea. Over the past few weeks they'd been seeing each other more and more, and Draco found himself enjoying her company. He wouldn't consider them an official item, but he did consider her _his_. He liked going to the playground with her and reading books with her; he liked seeing her at Flourish and Blotts. They'd gone out for a few spaghetti dates at Ida's Spaghetteria. It was beautiful simplicity, and it was enough to make Draco feel calm and not yet substantial enough to make him uncomfortable.

Hermione leaned across the coffee table and poured Draco another cup of tea. She herself was drinking coffee—black as usual, with around three or four heaping spoons of sugar mixed into her drink. Draco had noticed that she always drank her beverages in small sips, as though she were afraid to finish all of it at once. She filled Draco's cup of tea to the brim, then sat back in her seat, picking up the _Daily Prophet_ from beside her and flipping back to the crossword she'd been working on. Draco had his own copy of the newspaper and was currently reading the Quidditch section, trying desperately to ignore any mentions of Weasley's name.

Hermione picked up her favorite eagle quill from the tabletop. "I don't suppose you know what tomorrow is," said Hermione conversationally.

He glanced at the date on the corner of the newspaper. "Sunday," answered Draco, shrugging.

"Yes," conceded Hermione with a polite nod. "But there's something else, I believe."

Draco shook his head perplexedly and said, "I don't know, Granger."

Hermione rustled the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ and shifted in her seat. "My _birthday_," she said softly. She set the newspaper down and took another sip of her coffee. She didn't want to tell him that her parents had to miss her birthday for a very important Dentist's Convention in Liverpool. Or that Ginny had been completely booked at St. Mungo's for the next week and a half.

"Ah, yes," said Draco, lifting his own paper up again and burying himself with interest. "Your birthday."

Hermione coughed lightly, but Draco did not look up. To be entirely truthful, Draco was embarrassed that he hadn't known Hermione's birthday…but she'd never told him, so technically it wasn't his fault, was it? But now that left him with a mere twenty-four hours to plan something impressive.

"I'm turning twenty," said Hermione quietly.

Draco raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Then it's hardly anything special, is it?" he retorted. She looked at him, and he stared back, until finally the two of them broke out into laughter.

"You're ridiculous, Draco," said Hermione, smiling.

"Please," he smirked. "Call me Malfoy."

Hermione didn't answer and turned her attention back to her crossword puzzle. She read the next clue, then read it again…she usually found these crosswords simple due to her extensive literary background, but she had no idea what the answer to this one was. A bit embarrassed, she looked at Draco, who was still reading his paper.

"Eight-letter word used in the early eighteen hundred's to describe bravery," Hermione asked, tapping her quill against her chin in contemplation and looking at him expectantly.

"Gramblin," he said without looking up from the paper. He didn't even bat an eye. "One of the earliest forms of slang, they say. In seventeen forty-six, Rios Gramblin first walked through the gates of Everus carrying with him Merlin's bound works and nothing else."

"No wand?" she mused leisurely, staring at the crossword. "Hm, Gramblin fits."

"Yeah, no wand. Completely unarmed."

As she filled in the boxes, he just smirked, pleased to have had a chance to show off his intelligence. He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms in a show of pride, yawning triumphantly. He almost forgot for a split second about Pansy; ever since that night, the memory of his unspeakable deed always haunted him constantly. But Draco reminded himself to forget about Pansy. She couldn't do him any harm, he thought. It just goes to show that even smart boys can be dreadfully stupid.

* * *

"Something troubles you, Draco."

Draco looked up at his father from across the dinner table and frowned. It wasn't a question but rather a solid statement, and Draco felt himself growing more and more uncomfortable under his gaze. Lucius's eyes seared into Draco's, and the younger Malfoy coughed and began shoveling spoonfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Draco," said Lucius sternly, and Draco met his eyes once more.

"It's nothing, Father," assured Draco once he had swallowed his food.

Lucius nodded and cut into his balsamic chicken. "I see you haven't forgotten your Occlumency, my son."

Draco hated times like these, when his father would retain some of his former sanity and see through Draco's little white lies. Lucius gave the impression that his mind was still sharp, but Draco knew better—his father walked differently, almost as though he were flouncing through the halls instead of striding along like a proper wizard; he salted his food too much; he had stopped tying his hair back with his usual black ribbon and had neglected to comb it.

Even when he was well on his way to insanity, Lucius Malfoy still managed to intimidate Draco.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me what is on your mind," said Lucius. "Perhaps that will explain why you have been out of the house so much lately."

"I've been visiting Theo," said Draco, "and I've had work. I've worked overtime because Mart has been sick recently."

Lucius seemed to accept this as an answer and continued to eat his dinner. For the next fifteen minutes, all that were heard were the clinks and clangs of their silverware hitting their plates as they ate. Finally, Lucius set down his cutlery and cleared his throat.

"Draco," said Lucius solemnly. "With each passing day, my trial gets closer and closer. We both know they won't let me off easily."

"But Potter…I thought they pardoned you…"

"The Ministry feels that after the incident with your mother, it would be best to reevaluate my loyalty to the pro-Muggle Wizarding World." He sighed nonchalantly. "I expected them to go back on their words."

"But if it weren't for mother, Potter wouldn't even—"

"Let's not talk about it," said Lucius firmly. Draco knew that he didn't want to get on the subject of Narcissa; he never did. "That's not what this conversation is about."

Draco glared at his father. "Alright, I'll stop working so much overtime if it makes you happier."

"It's alright, Draco," insisted Lucius. "What concerns me more is the fact that you seem so enraptured by your ersatz career, yet you show not even the slightest interest in finding yourself a mate. Now, I can set up a few dinners with very lovely girls from good families…"

Draco bit down on his tongue to keep himself from talking, but the words spilled out anyway. "Father, what if…I've already found someone?"

"Oh?" Lucius looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, that's ideal, certainly. What's her surname? It wouldn't happen to be Miss Greengrass, would it?"

"No, never mind," said Draco irritably. "It's no one. I was just wondering."

Lucius looked at Draco for a very long time. His piercing gaze made Draco feel extremely uneasy. "You'll need an heir one day, Draco," said Lucius. "You know how the tradition works; you cannot access your rightful gold until you are married. I sincerely hope you find yourself a wife soon, otherwise all the girls from the respectable pureblooded families will have gone."

"She has to be completely pureblood, then?" said Draco, so softly that he hoped his father hadn't heard him.

"Not according to the spell cast on the account," said his father. Then his expression darkened with understanding. "Any marriage will do in order for you to obtain your gold. Though I fear I misunderstand you Draco…surely you aren't interested in wedding a girl whose blood is unable to be traced back any more than twenty generations?" Lucius paused. "Or worse?"

"No," said Draco quickly.

"Don't be stupid, now," said Lucius coldly. "You know how important the Malfoy line is, and you know your responsibility. I shall set up a few dinners with some unwed witches from good families."

"Fine," said Draco. He'd have no trouble turning each and every one of them down.

"I think I'll send an owl to Miss Greengrass first," mentioned Lucius casually. "Astoria, I believe her name was? A Slytherin, if I'm not mistaken."

At this, Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. Lucius frowned disapprovingly.

"Always represent Slytherin," he said harshly. "It is among the most important parts of Malfoy history. Be devious, cunning, and quick, son…and if you're none of those, at least hold your head up and be damn proud your ancestors were."

Draco sighed. He'd heard this speech a million times. "I know, Father," he said exasperatedly. "But don't owl her yet. I will find someone, trust me. Just give me my own time, alright?"

Lucius stared at Draco for a long time.

"Of course," he said after staring at him a little longer, but his voice was hard. "I will give you a few weeks. But if you have not made contact with anyone by that time, I assure you that I will take matters into my own hands."

Draco watched as his father left the room. He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly as he realized that he might have to tell his father about Granger sometime.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Granger."

Draco smirked as he watched Hermione's mouth fall open in astonishment. She'd just opened the door her apartment and caught sight of the huge bouquet of sunflowers he'd gotten for her. He handed them to her, and she accepted them, albeit with shaking hands.

"Th-thank you," she said, setting them into a conveniently-placed empty vase on the windowsill. She grinned sheepishly at him; she'd been expecting him to bring her flowers.

Draco cocked his head to the side thoughtfully as he studied her. She was wearing a white V-neck shirt that wasn't too low, and a black cardigan over that. She was also wearing—Draco struggled to remember the name of the article of clothing—_jeans_, was it? They were a darker rinse than the ones Draco had worn last time. Around Hermione's neck rested a simple yet elegant strand of freshwater pearls. He'd never seen her in jewelry before. He smiled at her.

"I see you've left your robes at home," Hermione mentioned casually, stepping fully outside and shutting the door behind her. Indeed, Draco was wearing his black trousers and white shirt that had come with his Hogwarts uniform. He felt that he would look a bit strange among all the Muggles…there were certain differences between Muggle clothing and wizard clothing; for example, instead of buttons, Draco's "button-down" shirt had simply adhered itself shut as soon as Draco had put it on. Draco hoped none of the Muggles would notice that his dress shirt didn't actually have any buttons.

Draco held his hand hesitantly to Hermione, and she took it, interlocking her fingers with his and squeezing gently. Together, the two made their way down the stairs that led to the front lobby.

"So what are we doing today?" asked Hermione.

"I thought you knew the answer to everything, Granger."

Hermione scowled playfully. "Very funny, Malfoy."

"I've actually got a few things in mind," said Draco. "But first, I've got to buy you a present, don't I?"

Hermione pretended to look scandalized. "What, Draco?" she exclaimed in shock. "You mean to say you haven't _already_ gotten me anything for my birthday?"

He laughed along with her and shrugged. "I wanted you to be able to pick your presents."

"I do hope you actually meant to use the plural form there, Malfoy. You know I love gifts." Hermione grinned at him. "Only joking…"

"Not at all, Granger," he insisted, suddenly veering left and nearly dragging her down another sidewalk lined with small shops. Hermione wondered vaguely how he'd gotten so acquainted with Muggle street names, so she asked him. "I did a little research and found a shop I want to take you to," Draco answered, not taking his eyes off the sidewalk in front of him, "It's right on Prollet Lane."

"Prollet Lane," she echoed, falling silent as she tried to place the name. "You know, I don't think I've actually ever been there."

Draco didn't answer, but he turned right, and together they crossed the street. They continued walking until finally they reached a small bookstore just across from an unnamed coffee shop. He tugged gently on her hand, and together they entered the quaint little bookstore.

Hermione had never been here, and she immediately fell in love with the place. It was a tiny shop, crammed full of books. The shelves were barely organized from what she could tell, but she loved the dark green carpeted floors and the potted plants hanging from the ceiling, and she thought that the grey-haired bookkeeper sitting at his register was simply adorable. She looked up to grin at Draco.

"A Muggle bookstore?" she said.

"You're a Muggle, aren't you?" countered Draco with raised eyebrows. Hermione slapped him on the arm and rolled her eyes, then darted down one of the aisles to look at books.

"Sweet Merlin," she called out a few minutes later. Draco grinned to himself.

"Yes, Granger?"

Hermione emerged from behind a bookshelf, holding a book, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "These…" She shook her head. "These are all _collector's editions_…"

"Oh, are they?" said Draco conversationally, but Hermione had already rushed to him and embraced him in a tight hug.

She buried herself into his chest, still clutching the first edition of _Great Expectations _in her hand. "This is the best gift anyone's ever given me."

Draco hugged her closer, shutting his eyes and inhaling the soft, sweet fragrance of raspberries mixed with the sharp scent of fresh pine. "Buy anything you want," he told her.

"Oh, Draco," said Hermione. "Thank you, but these books…they're so expensive, I really…I just couldn't…"

"I've already exchanged some Galleons for Muggle money," insisted Draco with a wave of his hand. "And if you don't pick what books you want, I'll buy you the whole damn store."

Hermione smiled softly. "Thank you," she repeated, her voice barely audible.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Anything for you, bookworm."

* * *

They left the store after almost three hours, after Hermione had examined nearly every inch of the small store, running her fingers over every binding and breathing in the smell of the yellowed pages. They were all beautiful books, some kept in such perfect condition that Hermione wondered if perhaps she were in a dream. None of the books had price stickers on them, so Hermione couldn't even purposefully choose the cheapest ones, and Draco eventually had gotten so fed up with her guilt at his spending money that he'd simply taken all of the books she had been holding at the time and set them down on the counter in front of the register, despite Hermione's protests. He'd paid for them without batting an eye, pulling out a wad of crisp Muggle bills and setting them down on the counter, barely bothering to check the amount.

And now they sat under a particularly shady tree, just a little far off from their swing set, where a group of rambunctious children were currently playing. Draco was leaned against the tree, his head resting against the trunk, while Hermione laid her head across his shoulder, holding open _Wuthering Heights_.

"_Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. 'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent_…"

Draco's eyes snapped open. "_Ejaculation_?" he repeated incredulously, looking at her. "What kind of novel did you make me purchase, Granger?"

"You are so immature," Hermione muttered dryly. But she could barely hide the grin on her face. "_Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling_…"

"He named his house Wuthering Heights?" said Draco with a look of disapproval. "Are you bloody serious?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, and it's almost as stupid a name as Malfoy Manor. May I continue reading?"

"Oh, come off it, Granger, at least my ancestors named our estate after _us_. Wuthering Heights…you have to admit it sounds ridiculous."

"_I _certainly don't think so."

He smirked. "Scared to admit the truth?"

"No, merely considerate of your feelings," she answered peacefully, reading silently and flipping to the next page. "Otherwise I'd have already told you that Wuthering Heights is a far more interesting and impressive name than Malfoy Manor."

Draco frowned. "Mm," he said.

"You know I care about you, right?" said Hermione suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the pages of her newly-acquired book.

"Excuse me?"

She still didn't look up. "I said I care about you, Draco."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek in contemplation, letting her words wash over him, letting their meaning settle into him as he tested them for comfort. He decided that her confession felt alright. So he took her hand, lifting it up from where it rested on the cover of the book, and held it in his own. He stroked his thumb down along the side of her hand, and she smiled at him.

He didn't answer her; he didn't say that he cared about her as well. But her eyes met his, and to Hermione, the look in those grey eyes was answer enough.

"Come over," he said softly.

"What?" said Hermione, her eyes wide.

Still holding her hand, Draco stood up and turned swiftly on his heel, and together they Disapparated to Malfoy Manor. Several Muggles sitting in the park whipped their heads around to search for the cause of the loud noise, but all they saw were the bent blades of grass from where the couple had been sitting moments ago.

* * *

_CRACK_.

Draco hoped that his father hadn't heard him Apparate in, just in case he decided to stop by and greet him, but he doubted his father would have heard, as he was probably in the library around this time. Draco watched Hermione as she took in her surroundings—the green drapery, the dark cedar hardwood floor, his oak dresser and his four-poster bed.

"I wasn't going to stop to talk to you that day in the park," he admitted coolly, slipping his hand out of her grasp and coughing lightly.

"I'm glad you did."

"Me, too." He laughed and sat down on his bed; Hermione sat down next to him. "You know, I did it just to spite my ancestors. Associating with a Muggle-born? What would they say?"

"Prick!" Hermione giggled, and she picked up a pillow from the bed they were sitting on and hit him squarely in the face.

"Oi!"

Draco grabbed another pillow off the bed and swung at her playfully, hitting her on the shoulder. Hermione gasped in shock at his retaliation and swung at him again, this time hitting him swiftly in the stomach, and soon feathers were flying throughout the air to the sounds of their laughter.

"Ferret!" she teased. He loved her laugh.

"Bookworm!" he retorted.

She suddenly stopped laughing, but the smile was still apparent in the depths of her eyes. "You're staring," she breathed.

Draco stopped laughing too, and his expression retreated into a warm smile, something that was very rare for him. "Maybe."

"Well, what are you thinking?"

He tossed the pillow at her, and she caught it, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily, waiting for his answer. "You're alright, Hermione Granger," he said softly. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers, cupping her cheek. She responded warmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer towards her. In response, he moved his hands down to her waist.

They broke apart and stared at each other in silence, chests still rising and falling with great rhythm. Draco noticed his fingers were still wrapped around Hermione's waist, so he let them trail down her side until they reached the bedsheets. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch.

"You're alright too, Draco Malfoy." Her eyes trailed down to the bed they were sitting on.

Draco seemed to notice. "Don't worry. I didn't bring you here to seduce you, Granger."

"Prat," she muttered. The pillow hit him once more, and more insults were exchanged—along with a kiss.


	16. Please Don't Think I Plan to Lose

**Author's Note: **It's 6:29 AM right now...I didn't sleep last night, mostly because my sleeping patterns are so messed up and I just couldn't. So instead of sleeping, I finished this chapter! I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I think mostly it depresses me. But...you'll see :) Hm, and this is just a random fact: whenever I write a fic I always keep 2 larger documents in its folder—a running prewrite that I use to keep track of scenes and roughly keep things in order, and a giant document of all the chapters in one file so that I know how much I've written at a glance. This fic currently has 120 pages. Now if only I could channel my passion for Dramione into novel-writing? Sigh.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Seriously, reading your reviews always makes me happy, and it keeps me motivated :) I have the best reviewers in the whole world, kay :D

On another note, 28 DAYS UNTIL DEATHLY HALLOWS!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
**_Please Don't Think I Plan to Lose _

* * *

The first signs of October weather came with the breeze that floated through the air, whipping Draco's cloak up past his knees and tangling Hermione's hair wildly. They held hands as they walked through the park, taking in the scene before them. Muggles were everywhere: most were watching their children play on the playground or otherwise playing tennis, but some were walking their dogs or reading the newspaper. Many gave Draco curious looks as he walked past in his cloak and strange attire.

Draco knew he was being stupid. He'd only really known Granger for a little over a month, after all. There was no particular reason for his thoughts to be comprised of only her, and yet for some reason, they were. Perhaps it had been because Draco had met her at a time in his life when he'd had nothing, and Hermione's presence had somehow just seemed right and opportune.

_Maybe Granger wasn't supposed to mean this much to me_, he thought. He'd met her at Flourish and Blotts as a depressed young man taking each day one moment at a time. He'd been empty-handed, and Hermione had simply fallen into his life. _Maybe I just met her at a time when I'd had absolutely nothing; maybe Hermione had nothing either._

They were both essentially alone, after all. Draco had told Hermione about Lucius and had briefly explained about his mother, though he hadn't told her the complete circumstances of her death. Hermione never talked much about her parents, but from the feel that Draco got, she really did love them; he wondered why she was always so quiet on the subject. That was another thing—they were both quiet. Draco was sure there were a million things they had in common and a million more that they disagreed on. Somewhere in there, there had to be a reason why they were together...

_Maybe we're just two stupid kids, floundering._

All this thinking was making Draco's head hurt. There was a throbbing in his temples and he couldn't make it stop, so he gripped Hermione's hand tighter instead to steady his thoughts. Something about her quieted the voices in his head just a little.

_Maybe we're in love._

He wasn't sure; he'd never been in love before. But it didn't matter if they were, really. Every time Draco was around Granger, he felt confused. He didn't know what she thought of him, and though it thrilled him, it scared him all the same.

Suddenly, Hermione tripped on an uplifted branch and fell right on the ground, letting out a soft "oof!" She immediately burst out into embarrassed laughter, and Draco rolled his eyes and lifted her to her feet. Hermione blushed as she placed her hand in his, letting him help her up.

"Left comes after right, Hermione. Then right, then left again." Draco's expression was unreadable as they continued to walk. "You should try to walk properly," he suggested.

Hermione scowled. "Oh, shove off." Her knees hurt from the fall; she looked down at them and saw that her light wash jeans were sullied with dirt and flecks of grass. Draco's eyes trailed down to her legs.

"Those jeans are quite unbecoming, Granger," he said flatly. "I'd much rather prefer you in robes."

Hermione snorted as she dusted the dirt off her pants. "Unbecoming?"

"Yes. As opposed to all the things that you _are _becoming."

"And what would that be?" she asked him. Draco gave her a pointed look. "What am I becoming, Malfoy?" she repeated, a slight tone of encouragement in her voice.

"The only person I care about," said Draco. Hermione's eyes shot upwards to look at him in disbelief.

"W-what?" she asked softly. He eventually met her eyes; his jaw was a set, and a muscle near his neckline twitched.

"You heard me," he answered simply, his eyes hard. Draco watched as her hair blew behind her in the wind like brown wisps of smoke. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as the soft pastel pink curve of her mouth tilted upwards into a smile; she bit her lip and squeezed Draco's hand twice, two quick pulses that sent his heart into overdrive.

He loved her.

But he'd never say it to her face. No, he thought as he smiled back at her and then looked straight ahead once more. He was too scared of rejection and of appearing vulnerable, and while he'd admit to anyone else, even perhaps to his father one day, he'd never admit it to her.

Perhaps he should have.

Then, months into the future, she might have taken him back.

* * *

After Draco had seen Hermione back to her flat, he'd Apparated back to Malfoy Manor and had been in his bedroom ever since. He was now clutching the photo of his mother in one hand, gazing at it for such a long time that sometimes his eyes would unfocus themselves and he would have to blink rapidly several times to remedy it. He was so enraptured by the sight of his mother looking so peaceful that he didn't even hear his bedroom door open.

"Did you have a good night last night?"

Draco froze at the sound of his father's voice and quickly set the photo frame down on his writing table; to his embarrassment he'd been staring at the photograph for a full ten minutes, watching his mother smile and trying to memorize every last detail, every line and spiderweb wrinkle on her soft-featured face. He tried to ignore the hint of acrid sarcasm evident in his father's voice and the ice-cold glare that was fixed upon Draco with frozen menace.

"Er – what?" was Draco's reply.

Lucius Malfoy pursed his lips impatiently and raised his chin a fraction of an inch. "Do not try to pretend, Draco."

When Draco did not answer, Lucius narrowed his eyes. "I heard laughter in your room yesterday. Female laughter."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "It was nothing…"

"Who was she?" Lucius asked sharply. Draco felt as though he were twelve years old again, shrinking in fear as his father demanded to know his current class ranking or the number of Quidditch games he'd won.

This was no different. Draco could have cursed himself when he heard his voice waver. "No one."

"Did she stay the night?" Lucius pressed. His eyes were like glass. If Draco squinted hard enough he could see white-gold flecks of stubble lining his father's jawline; he clearly hadn't shaven in days. "Well?" asked Lucius. "Did she?"

Draco shook his head and looked down at his dark wooden writing desk. "No," he answered. "We were just talking, Father."

There was no answer. Draco kept his head down and hoped his father would accept Draco's answer and leave in peace, but Lucius continued to pace around the room. There was something about his father that irked Draco to no end—how, even on the very brink of insanity, he still managed to terrify Draco out of his wits. But it was a different kind of fear from the one he'd felt when he was still a boy. It was more a fear of the unknown; before, Draco had always known how his father would react to his failures and disobediences, but now everything was variable and based solely upon Lucius's insanity.

All the signs were there. Lucius was no longer a Malfoy. Though still mentally capable, Lucius had regressed into a depressed middle-aged man, and this change was becoming quite apparent as the days went on. And yet no matter how mad Lucius Malfoy became, he would still be perpetually intimidating to his only son, and that bothered Draco to no end. He'd thought he'd have grown out of it by now.

Apparently not.

Lucius swept his robes about him, pulling them tighter around his shoulders. "What was her name?" he asked. Draco hesitated. He could tell him now, if he wanted. He could tell his father about Hermione…

It might even be simple. What could his father really do about it, anyway? Write him out of his will? He was going to Azkaban as it were. And Draco was a fully grown man, wasn't he? He could make his own decisions, after all. And come to think of it, maybe Lucius wouldn't even recognize Granger's name. Draco could just drop her name and Lucius wouldn't think twice of it; Draco could even say that Granger was the surname a very powerful wizarding family in...in _Norway _or something...

Draco stopped. What was he even thinking? He looked up at his father again, closing his mind, making sure his father could not employ Legilimency...

"What was her _name_?" repeated Lucius impatiently.

"You know what," said Draco, "I don't even remember."

* * *

He started working more after that. He'd almost had to beg Cyrus to let him take extra shifts; the man insisted that Draco was working too much and that his sickness the other day had been a direct result of overwork. But eventually the two had compromised, and Draco now worked Thursday afternoons as well for a few hours, though Cyrus required him to take a ten-minute break at the start of each hour.

It was nearing the middle of October, so sales had died down. The store was no longer filled with Hogwarts students scrambling to get their books on time before classes started. In all truthfulness, the store was actually usually fairly empty except for the occasional middle-aged witch or wizard. The workplace had been peaceful for months.

Too good to last, Draco realized, as the bell above the door rang almost nervously and gave way to Pansy, who was striding through the store with a tangible degree of haughtiness about her. Draco, who had been in the Herbology aisle reorganizing books about Medieval plants, quickly dove behind the shelf.

Pansy's shiny black eyes scanned the store, no doubt looking for Draco. He crouched lower, peeking out from the side of the shelf just so he could see her from across the store. Her face fell as she saw only Mart. But instead of leaving, she turned and began walking to the other side of the store. Searching for something

Draco let out a long, deep sigh. He'd have to face her sometime...

He stood up. Walked steadily over to her. She turned at the sound of his footsteps. Her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch...

Without any further change in expression, she spat at his feet.

"Oi!" Draco whipped out his wand and tidied his shoes instantly. "What the hell was that for?"

"For basically raping me that night!" she snarled, leaning in closer to him. "You drunken prick! You practically dragged me upstairs to the room in the Leaky Cauldron..."

"Bitch," whispered Draco softly. Pansy gasped in anger. "I know about the love potion," he said calmly. Too calmly...he should be nowhere near this calm, he thought. Nowhere near.

The malicious gleam left Pansy's eyes and was soon replaced by fear. "W-what are you talking about?" she stuttered.

"Theo told me."

"He...Theo must've...Draco, I would never..."

"You're sick, you know that?" said Draco in disgust. "Sick and pathetic. And your stupid plan backfired. Hermione knows about the love potion. We've both forgotten about you."

Her eyes glistened. "I just thought—"

"There is _nothing _between you and me," he growled.

"O-okay." Pansy nodded quickly and said, "I was wrong, Draco, alright? I-I'm sorry. I'm just here to buy a book, that's all."

With one last look of fury, Draco turned his back on her and walked back to the Herbology aisle. Cyrus was working the register, and Draco watched as she strode over to the counter, set the book down in front of her and began digging through her purse for her coins.

After she'd paid, she tucked the book under her arm and headed for the door. Draco kept his eyes on her until she felt his gaze and returned it, frozen in place with her hand barely brushing the door handle.

"Watch whose shoes you're spitting on," he said coldly. Pansy said nothing, but he almost detected something on her face—was that a smirk? But before he could get a closer look, she was gone.

Something was bothering him as he watched her leave. Something sat uncomfortably in the back of his head, beckoning him to figure it out. But Draco didn't care enough to listen.

He was at peace right now. He was calm.

So it was a good thing he hadn't caught sight of the title of the book she'd purchased—_A Guide to a Better Birth_.

* * *

The visit from Pansy threw him off. For the next couple of days, Draco kept to himself more than usual. He did not speak to his father at all, and he even found himself speaking to Hermione less. He even ignored one of her owls. He felt terrible for doing so, but Pansy...she'd just brought up all these thoughts in his head, and he had to try to sort them out.

He was at the playground with Hermione; she'd come to see him just at the end of his shirt and practically had to drag him there. "You can't be like this, Draco," she said impatiently. "I know you're scared of a lot of things, but I shouldn't be one of them."

So he'd gone with her, and though he felt strange in a way he couldn't explain, he was glad he'd come. He couldn't help but smile as she stretched herself up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

"I should get a real job," muttered Draco. He stood standing as Hermione made herself comfortable on the swings.

"Don't you work part-time at Flourish and Blotts?" asked Hermione teasingly, propping her elbows on her knees. "I saw you there. Remember?"

At this, Draco smiled. "How could I forget, Granger? That's how we got into this mess in the first place." And he brushed his hand against hers in a sort of shy display of affection.

"Well, that's a job."

"I'd hardly call that a job," Draco scoffed, kicking a pebble and watching it fly feet away from him. It hit the seesaw with a light clink.

"What would you call it, Draco?" Hermione challenged.

"Stacking books all day for minimum wage? An excuse."

She smiled softly, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. "You could get a job at the Ministry, Draco. I hear there are a number of available positions, especially now, since the w—"

He whipped his head around just as she caught herself. Slim fingers flew to her mouth, as if trying to prevent any more unwanted words from escaping.

"I mean," she said quickly, with fake authority, "I'll take you tomorrow. No choice in the matter."

Draco turned around again, hiding his smile under the darkness of the night. He didn't think that she realized that he'd go anywhere with her, at any time. He'd battle rabid Chimeras barehanded or chug Skelegrow by the gallon. Of course he would. If only she'd ask.

"I guess," he said. She looked satisfied.

"What're you interested in? I think it's Law Enforcement, yes?" Hermione smiled.

Draco thought for a second and shook his head to signify that he didn't know, though there was a hint of playfulness etched on his expression. "Hey Granger, remind me what department you're in again?"

"Law Enforcement," answered Hermione with a smirk.

"Yeah," grinned Draco suddenly, gripping her hand tighter and pulling her up from the swings. He placed a hand on her waist and pulled her close. "That's what I'm interested in, then."

* * *

"I keep thinking about Pansy."

Theo's expression clouded over as he leaned back on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah?" he pressed.

"I don't know why," admitted Draco, his eyes focused on one of the many windows in the Nott Mansion's parlor. "I don't think about her in a good way. It's like she's haunting me."

"Hm."

Draco sat up suddenly in his seat. "Want to know something sad?" he asked cheerfully, though Theo could tell he was visibly upset about what he was about to say—he'd known him long enough to know when he was being sarcastic.

"What?" asked Theo.

"I've finally found someone who makes me feel like less of a useless prick," said Draco. "And I'll never be able to have her."

"You haven't had her yet?" said Theo, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face.

Draco frowned. "Not in your sense, sex-driven idiot."

"Alright, alright." Theo rolled his eyes. "Do go on."

He cleared his throat awkwardly and grabbed one of the Quidditch magazines sitting on the coffee table, rifling through it though not really reading any of the words. "She's my mirror image," said Draco. "I know it sounds bloody stupid. But everything's alright when I'm with her."

"You don't seem very alike," muttered Theo.

"That's what does it, I think."

"Are you going to tell me that she completes you?" scoffed Theo, brushing the thought aside.

Draco remained silent, almost embarrassed. "No. But she makes me feel that way."

Theo sighed and set down the magazine that he was reading, tossing it onto the table. "Okay. Okay, fine, I'll humor you. Say you really like Granger. You said it yourself—you can never have her."

"Yeah."

Theo threw his hands up in air as it the solution were obvious. "So forget about her!" he urged Draco, a tone of disbelief in his voice. "I can't believe you're wasting so much time thinking about this!"

"Question," said Draco.

"What?"

"Did you father love your mother?"

Silence on the other end. Draco knew things had been awkward in their friendship since Hermione had entered Draco's life. His conversations with Theodore had always used to flow so effortlessly, but now there was an obstacle blocking their ease of communication; it could only be Granger's presence.

"I think," Theo managed finally, but Draco heard the crack of pain in his voice.

"You think?" he encouraged.

"There are a lot of pictures of her in his private study," he elaborated, not looking at Draco. "And he's always sad around the time of her birthday. Merlin, you think women really have that much power over men?"

"My father wants to die," said Draco bitterly, looking at his former Hogwarts roommate. "It's because of my mother, you know…how _she_ died. He loved her proper, I'd say."

"You..." Theo's voice was quieter than before and somewhat hesitant. "You never told me how she died."

"Thought you would have heard by now," shrugged Draco. Theo shook his head. "Dragon pox," Draco said shortly.

Theo had a feeling that there was more to the story, but he didn't press Draco for more information. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Draco's hair hung in his eyes and that his spine was curved from grief at the memory of his mother. Instead of asking Draco anything more, Theo began to talk about his own mother.

"My father must have loved her," nodded Theo in understanding, not seeming to think much of this fact. "I'm pretty sure he wants to die as well. I saw her die, my mum, when I was six." Now there was almost a sad tone to Theo's voice, and Draco, despite having known him practically since they were in diapers, had never seen him like this. "Supposedly I get my intelligence from her."

Draco coughed uncomfortably. He wasn't entirely sure if Theo was being conceited or just plain truthful, but he did acknowledge that Theo was a bit wittier than he was. True, Draco had beaten him in every exam (with only Hermione beating Draco, as a matter of fact), but Theo had a cleverness that could not be measured in books, or perhaps even by human judgment. He just _was_.

Oh, he'd never say it, of course. Malfoys didn't just go around complimenting people, even if they _were_ better than themselves. Malfoys had reputations as the best of the best, so that was exactly what Draco pretended to be.

But Theo was worth more than Draco, and Draco knew this: because while Draco spent his days shelving books, Theodore inched closer and closer to the Nott fortune and to a steady job at the Ministry. Yes, Theo was simply more impressive. But Draco had never said it aloud; he never would. There were many things he wouldn't say. Too many things, in fact.

He loved Hermione Granger. But he couldn't—wouldn't— tell her.

And this would later come back to haunt him.

* * *

_A quick note: the line "and what am I becoming?" was a line borrowed from another short Dramione fic...unfortunately I don't remember the name/author, but if you know who wrote it please tell me so that I can credit it properly. I just thought it was a beautiful line. :)_


	17. To the Night

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry for the long wait :(. I've been busy, and on top of that I've had the _worst _writer's block. You know I hate doing making you guys wait. On the bright side I got a 90 on my Psychology exam :). To make it up to you (though I know I suck a lot), I've made this chapter extra long. Enjoy! I think the next few will be quicker for me to write; this chapter was a bit of a milestone.

I'm also sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to most of your reviews. I always forget to do so until I'm about to upload the next chapter, and then I just feel silly replying so late! But I do appreciate every review I've ever gotten, and I'm so glad that this fic has so many readers :)

This chapter may seem a little rushed, but I wanted to get it out before Deathly Hallows came out. I cannot wait!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen  
**_To the Night _

"_One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."  
__- James Earl Jones_

* * *

"Could you loosen your grip a bit, Granger? I swear you'll tear these robes like this."

Hermione scoffed at the pale young man she was currently leading down the hallway, her hands clenched firmly around the sleeve of his robes. She was moving impossibly fast, much to Draco's disdain. He wasn't used to walking so quickly; his occupation didn't really require it.

"Stop walking so slowly, Draco, you're going to make me late."

"You'll be late anyway, so what's the rush?"

Hermione glared at him and continued to drag him down the hallway by the crook of his elbow. Draco had been late to Hermione's flat that morning, and seeing as they'd had to use the Visitor's Entrance to the Ministry, his late arrival had set them back nearly ten minutes. Draco was embarrassed to find that he had to struggle to keep up with Hermione's fast walking pace.

They passed Mafalda Hopkirk on their way down the hallway. Hermione didn't stop to properly greet her, but she did call out to her. "Just helping a friend fill out applications!" she explained cheerfully, pulling Draco along. She turned to call cheerfully over her shoulder, "I do hope we still have blank applications in the office!"

Mafalda smiled tightly and nodded her head to indicate that they did in fact still have applications, though Draco could tell from her expression that she wished they didn't.

"Ignore her," said Hermione under her breath. "She's just jealous because Kingsley put _me _on the new disciplinary case and not her."

Draco couldn't help but smirk at this. "Guess you're good at your job after all, _Hermione_." She beamed back at him and gripped his hand a little more firmly.

They entered the office together, and Hermione led him over to her desk after grabbing a blank application from the folder by the door. She handed him an eagle quill and practically shoved him into a chair so that he could fill it out properly.

"I thought for sure you would have applied for a Ministry position after Hogwarts," mentioned Hermione conversationally.

"How could I?" he deliberated gloomily. "The Malfoy name wasn't too popular. Besides, don't you hate your job?"

Hermione glanced sharply around the office to see if anyone had heard, but the other workers were preoccupied with their own affairs. "Shhh," she hissed at him. "But yes, I _dislike _my job. Only because it's so constricting! Other than that, it's quite alright. It's just the same process, day after day."

A bemused smirk. "So then why am I being forced to apply here?"

The door swung open before Hermione could answer. A freckled redhead stood awkwardly at the door, his tall and gangly frame blocking the doorway. His piercing blue eyes caught sight of Draco, and he shifted.

"Am I..." His voice was hesitant, and his pale blue eyes grazed over Hermione's hand resting on Draco's. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No...no. Hello, Percy," chirped Hermione brightly. Her cheeks were red. "Draco—er, Malfoy's applying for a job today!"

Percy, who was clutching a mug of steaming hot coffee with one hand and a stack of papers in the other, tilted his head at Draco in reluctant acknowledgement. Draco responded with an attempted smile that turned out to be more of a grimace. It was apparently more than either of them could manage, for they both quickly dropped their glances; Draco's eyes hit the application in front of him, while Percy walked over to Hermione and handed her the papers.

"Some forms to go with your case," explained Percy with a knowing look. "Shacklebolt asked me to bring them to you myself. Must be important."

Hermione thanked him, and without another word he strode out the door, still clutching his mug with his left hand.

"What case are you on?" asked Draco.

Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "It's not a surprise he put me on this particular case, to be honest," she said dismissively. "Recently a number of anti-Muggle attacks have sprung up—nothing too serious, just the occasional Jelly-Legs Jinx and maybe a tickling charm. But it isn't right, so Kingsley has me track down the offending wizards while undercover in the Muggle world."

"That's my Muggle," said Draco lightly, patting her on the knee. Hermione gasped in protest and clubbed him albeit gently on the shoulder with her fist and burst out into laughter at his reaction. A secretary at a nearby desk looked over in disapproval.

Blushing furiously, Hermione sat down next to Draco and peered over his shoulder. "You can put Flourish and Blott's down for previous work experience," she encouraged him, seeing that he had left the box blank. "Go on, Draco..."

He set the quill down. "Granger, I can't."

Hermione's face fell. "Why not?"

"I'm not ready for this."

She sighed. "It's been two years. You can't work at a bookstore forever, no matter how nice it may be there."

With a sudden movement, the quill was back in its stand and the application form was in the rubbish bin, torn in two. "Yes, Granger, I actually can," he said, setting his jaw firmly and not looking at her. "I, unlike most others, do not have to work for my money. And I find the atmosphere at Flourish and Blotts to be quite relaxing."

Hermione placed her hand tenderly on his own, and his head turned to look at her. She smiled so softly he wasn't sure for a second if the smile was actually there. "You wouldn't be working for the money, you know."

She moved a little closer, just close enough to brush her lips against his cheek. It was a small act, as they were in the workplace; any distracted passerby would have thought that Hermione was merely speaking to him. "You work to keep yourself sane," she whispered into his ear. "You're supposed to be doing better things than shelving books, I know it."

He shuddered at her touch. He wanted to apply to the Ministry, he really did. But something about it just didn't seem quite right. "I'll apply another time. How's that?"

By her smile, she seemed satisfied. Now it was his turn to lean in, and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. "What now?" he asked her, resting his forehead against hers.

"_Now,_" quipped Hermione, sitting upright in her seat again and regaining the usual look of authority that she sported while at work, "you can leave. I've got a lot of work to do already, and that's without all of your distractions."

She was determined not to look at him, but he saw the faint smile that lip up her expression. He grinned. "Are you still making me dinner tonight?"

"Naturally." Her quill continued to scratch against the parchment as she filled out what Draco assumed to be a recent Muggle Abuse report. Her curls fell in her eyes, but she was too preoccupied to brush them aside.

Draco shrugged. "Alright. Seven it is. I don't like to be kept waiting, Granger."

"Wait, Draco."

He hesitated by the door. "Yes?" he said.

"Do you care about me?" she asked softly in a whisper Draco could barely hear.

The answer came a lot more easily than he'd anticipated. "More than anything," he said.

Hermione snorted. "You don't mean that."

"_Au contraire,_ my fair Muggle," Draco grinned. He liked how Granger was level-headed. It made him less uneasy. "I doubt I've ever meant anything else."

"How daft do you think I am?" Hermione raised an eyebrow and glared at him, but he could tell that she was joking. The shine in her eyes gave her away.

He shrugged. "You're daft enough to think I'm lying." With a self-satisfied smirk, he turned and headed once more for the door, leaving Hermione sitting at her desk with an amused smile on her face. She scoffed good-naturedly as she watched his retreating form slink out of her office.

* * *

He'd told his father that he was dining with his employer, Cyrus. Draco had fed his father a bald-faced lie about how Cyrus was thinking about retiring and wanted to talk to Draco about possibly taking up ownership of the store. Strangely, he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt for being dishonest.

Draco knew he'd woven himself a very complicated web that he would have to clean up very soon. He'd have to deal with his father at some point, and though he wished he could avoid the impending confrontation at all expenses, he accepted the impossibility of such a lack of consequence. He'd allowed several weeks to pass hardly even speaking to his father. It was almost November, but not quite, and Lucius had brought up the subject of potential wives several more times during dinner. Draco had reacted with cold disinterest, but they were both growing impatient.

It didn't matter now, though, not to Draco, not while he was sitting with her. Draco looked at Hermione from across her small kitchen table and smiled leisurely. She smiled back, and Draco began eating his dinner again, the hint of a smile still on his lips. When he was with her, he allowed all his worries about his father and his future to leave his mind. All he concentrated on was her—nothing else, because nothing came close to her.

In his thoughts, nothing could touch her.

She was safe there, and she was completely his. When they were alone, Draco didn't have to worry about his mistakes or his duties or his fears. She was there—only her.

He shifted his peas around on his plate. "This is very good pasta," he said conversationally, breaking the silence. But their silences were never awkward, and he liked that.

Hermione shrugged sheepishly. "Oh, it's nothing," she insisted. "It's called _cavatelli_. It goes well with vegetables."

"So I'd noticed," answered Draco, taking a small bite out of a piece of broccoli. He couldn't help but beam at her; and he gazed at her slightly crooked smile, how only the left side of her mouth raised itself into a light grin—the most beautiful thing in the world. It was a shy sort of smile, but then again she saved her full smiles for better occasions. "Honestly, this is better than what Bitsy makes, I am completely serious."

"Bitsy?"

"My house-elf."

She raised an eyebrow as her expression tightened. "Draco, you just compared my cooking skill to a house-elf's."

"It's a huge compliment! Have you _seen_ the feasts they can create? Do you even _remember _Hogwarts?"

"Well, thank you," she said flatly, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. She didn't seem too pleased.

"I wish Bitsy knew how to make this..."

She pursed her lips. "Stop that, you _know_ I hate that you have a house-elf."

"It's not such a bad thing, you know," said Draco seriously, setting down his cutlery. "We treat her well."

"How'd you even come across her, anyway?" Hermione wondered bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

She pointed her fork at him accusingly. "You started off with Dobby, I know that much," she said, and Draco heard her voice crack slightly at the mention of Dobby's name. "House-elves stay with families for centuries, don't they? Generations serve generations, that's how it works, and don't tell me otherwise—I've done the research, I started S.P.E.W." She paused and jabbed her fork in midair. "How'd you manage to get another one?"

"She's not, er—the _best_," admitted Draco, his voice almost timid under Hermione's penetrating glare. He hastened to explain. "She doesn't always obey orders."

"Oh," whispered Hermione, her voice harsh like acid. "And I suppose you think it's a terrible thing that she has a mind of her own? That she can think for herself?"

"Owners know best," said Draco shortly. "_I _never order her to punish herself, you know. Obedience is an important trait in a house-elf. House-elves _should_ always follow orders."

Hermione snorted dismissively and speared a carrot.

Draco looked bemused. "Didn't you tell me that story about Kreacher and Regulus? And how he _ordered _Kreacher to leave him on the island to die? Or how he _ordered _Kreacher to return home to him, thus saving Kreacher's life?"

She hesitated. "Shove off, Malfoy," she muttered finally under her breath.

He grinned. "Well, anyway, obedience clearly is key, as you can plainly tell. And Bitsy has a few problems with that. Her last owner set her free, and after my...after my mother died, we really needed help around the Manor."

Hermione fell silent again. There was a long pause, one that seemed to take up an eternity, as Hermione's eyes lowered down to her dinner plate. She chewed her food and said not a food, obviously uncomfortable. She always seemed to say the wrong things; she'd never meant for Draco to bring up his mother.

Draco reached for her hand across the table. "Don't worry about it."

"How did it happen?" she whispered painfully.

His hand slid away from hers slowly, and she watched his eyes cloud over and he concentrated once more on his food. "It started with a mistake," he said. He brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples, as though the memory were too painful for him to remember. "My father made a mistake."

Hermione stared at him, not entirely sure what to say. Finally she said, "You don't have to go on if you don't want to."

"I've never told anyone before."

Hermione nodded, not taking her eyes off of him. It was strange to her how a mere instant ago he had been cheerful and bright, and yet now, his skin seemed to give off a sallow sort of glow. "You don't have to tell me."

"I will one day. I...I loved my mother very much."

He didn't think he'd ever said those words out loud. He was determined not to meet Hermione's eyes.

Instead, Draco reached for his own glass of wine and brought it to his lips, savoring the rich flavor as it rolled down his throat; the soft tingling sensation the liquid produced made him all the more comfortable around her. _I think I love you as well, _he wanted to say. But he didn't. He wasn't that comfortable, not yet.

He thought about his mother. Narcissa. He wished he had that photograph of her with him right now; he missed seeing her face sometimes. Draco often wished he'd been closer to his mother when she was alive. They _were _close, certainly, just not in the same way everyone else was close to their parents.

And all of a sudden Hermione's voice was there, breaking into his thoughts.

"Eat," urged Hermione gently, nudging his hand with her own.

Draco looked up at her and saw the concern and understanding glittering in her warm brown eyes. That smile; he fell for it every time. He didn't know how long he'd stared at her—it seemed as though they were frozen in this scene, and he memorized every contour of her face, every miniscule line that stretched from the corners of her eyes when she smiled. The smooth curve of her cheekbone as it met her jawline. The slope of her temples. Every last chestnut curl framing her face, like sepia wildfire. His hand tightened around hers instinctively; her skin felt soft upon his own.

It was right then that Draco decided that he would never leave her.

* * *

A few weeks passed, and they were almost safely into November. It was getting colder each day, yet Draco somehow never seemed to notice the cold. He still hadn't applied for the Ministry job. Being there in that office just didn't feel right to him, so he stayed at Flourish and Blotts. It was a terrible job, yes, but it was where he belonged.

They sat on a park bench by the playground, Draco with an arm draped around Hermione's shoulder; her head rested on his chest. He knew he was growing careless with these public displays, but whenever he was with her he didn't care who saw. It was after, when he was with his father, that he grew uneasy. But his father wasn't here now.

Sometimes they talked while they sat in the playground; other times they remained silent, merely enjoying each other's presence. Today they were partaking in the latter. It was the silence that made Draco know he could spend immeasurable amounts of time with her, to tell the truth. Relationships were always about talking; though Draco had never had a real relationship before, he'd garnered this much.

Talking, talking, talking. "Every girl wants to _talk_," Theo had said. Though Draco often found himself disagreeing with Theo, this was one of the few views he shared with him. If you find out everything that there is to know about a person within the first month of knowing them, what comes next? Where will you go?

Draco liked learning things about Hermione piece by piece. Like her birth date; that had come by surprise. Or her favorite type of cookie—chocolate chip, still warm and soft in the center; he'd learned that after a spaghetti date one time when they'd stopped at a nearby bakery. He didn't know her favorite color, her favorite music artist or much else, really. But he would. Finding out about her was half the adventure, wasn't it?

Hermione reached a hand up to lock fingers with the hand that was draped around her.

He leaned in, almost entirely on impulse, and kissed her. He could feel her smiling throughout the kiss, and it made him smile, too. She placed her hand on the back of his neck, as though she needed him desperately; it was something she'd never done before, and it drove his sense into overdrive. Almost shyly, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and he felt her shudder. Very slowly, he slipped his tongue into her mouth—

He was interrupted by an obnoxiously loud coughing nose. "There are _children_ here, you know!" scolded an older woman walking her Yorkshire terrier throughout the park, and after a very disapproving look, she kept walking.

Hermione shot several inches away from him, her cheeks crimson. She was breathing very heavily. A few seconds passed in awkward silence, until Hermione burst out into laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" asked Draco blankly. He felt a bit uncomfortable.

Hermione could hardly speak, and Draco somehow got the feeling that half of the laughter was forced, but he chose not to question it. "I-I don't know, really," she said. "That was...that was nice."

"Yeah, so? We've kissed like that before." He smirked as she blushed.

"I know," she relented, barely blinking. "But I just...I don't know, it's so—it's different, isn't it? I mean...do you think so?"

He grinned. "Sometimes I fear you make _too _much sense, Granger."

She laughed. "It was a nice kiss, that's all that I'm saying." She paused. It was a long pause, and Draco watched her stare into the landscape, her eyes slightly glazed over as they watched the joggers pass.

Hermione suddenly turned her head to look at Draco. It was something about the way their eyes met—something changed in that instant. There were a thousand words Draco would never be able to speak, all there in those brown eyes. Hermione seemed to notice it too, for all of a sudden she said, "So, are you going to invite me to your house now, or...?" She cut herself off and shook her head, saying, "No, I've got it all wrong." Her head seemed to turn to face him in slow motion, and she grinned playfully. "_You _can come to _my _place."

Slightly slack-jawed, Draco found Hermione clutching his arm firmly and dragging him someplace into the words where they could Disapparate.

As soon as they Apparated into Hermione's flat, they collapsed onto the couch in a mess of shortened breaths and slightly embarrassed chuckles. Draco's head hit the black velvet cushions behind them, and Hermione expertly kicked off her shoes behind her. He wove his hand through her curls and brought her lips down to interlock with his in a slow, deep kiss.

The world was moving entirely too fast. He had too many thoughts in his head and he couldn't even keep track of them all, and the only real thing at that moment was kissing Granger—kissing Hermione.

"This is"—Hermione paused long enough to come up for air—"so sudden, isn't it?" She planted a small trail of kisses on the side of his neck. "Or...maybe it isn't..."

Draco closed his eyes and smiled as Hermione's kissed began to trail down his jawline. "Don't ask me, Granger," he murmured. "You're the one who dragged me here..."

His eyes snapped open as he felt Hermione's hands undoing the buttons of his borrowed Muggle shirt. "_Shhh_," she grinned. She was calm, resolute. Draco tried not to let his jaw hang open as she let his shirt drop to the floor.

He wasn't entirely conscious of his actions; it seemed like a dream, surely, not a series of events that would unfold before him. She kissed him again slowly, parting her lips just long enough and then pulling away. Draco leaned forward, desperately wanting more, but Hermione only smirked and put a finger to his lips, staring straight into him. Not taking his eyes off hers, Draco slid her sweater from her shoulders, leaving her shoulders bare in her thin cotton shirt. Immediately, Hermione pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor on top of Draco's discarded shirt.

Draco took a brief moment to appreciate her. The gentle slope of her breasts, the unmarred surface of her skin, the softness of each line and curve that defined her.

He traced a line of kisses down her collarbone, one hand cupped around her breast and the other entangled in the soft brown curls that spread themselves out on the black velvet couch. She moaned softly at the forgotten sensation of strategic lips against the softness of her décolletage and placed her hand tenderly upon the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her.

"Draco," she whispered into his ear. "I—"

"We don't have to do this," he whispered back. He felt her grip tighten as she pressed her body still more firmly against his, the heat from their bodies making him feel more alive than he'd felt in a long time. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"No," said Hermione softly, shutting her eyes and trailing her hands down his chest until they reached the top button of his trousers. "I want to. I just...I want to know that this is real."

"Nothing else is." He kissed the tops of her eyelids. "Just—"

"—this," Hermione finished.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes groggily and glanced briefly at the sleeping figure lying next to her, a casual smile lighting up her face. She summoned a pair of robes from her bedroom and wrapped one around her body. She ran her fingers lightly through the front of his blond locks, grinning wider as he huffed and batted her hand away, continuing to sleep.

She poked him on the shoulder, whispering into his ear. "Wake up, Draco," she said.

He turned over again, peeling open an eyelid and smiling sleepily at the sight of her. Reaching through the covers, he grasped her hand and squeezed. They didn't need words, not for this. With just one movement, they could convey their feelings to each other in entirety.

"What time s'it?" muttered Draco, extending his free hand above his head in a lazy stretch. Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantle, withdrawing her head from the cushion that had served as her pillow that night.

"Almost eight o'clock. I should be at work soon."

"Last night was fun," smirked Draco, gently rubbing the palm of her hand with his thumb.

She kissed him softly in answer, just on the cheek. The scent of her would linger even hours after she'd left with her red scarf trailing behind her.

He loved her, and he knew this.

"I have to go." She smiled down at him. "Why don't you just rest here until you're feeling up to leaving? You can just Apparate out. There should be coffee on the kitchen table."

Draco picked up a cushion from the couch, pressing his face into the black velvet and picking up what was left of the fresh pine and raspberry aroma. It floated up into him, printing itself in his brain, making sure he would remember it forever.

"Hermione, wait."

"Yes?" she answered almost immediately as she paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"I..."

_I love you._

He tried to force the words out; desperately, he tried to say what he'd wanted to say for weeks. But he didn't say anything other than, "Have a good day at work, Granger." She smiled back weakly, as if she had been expecting more.

The door slammed shut behind her, and Draco collapsed back onto the couch—if she'd been expecting more of an answer, she couldn't have wanted a proper one more than Draco had wanted to give it to her. All that lingered now was the smell of raspberries and pine, and Draco's unspoken confessions.

* * *

"Merlin's beard, Draco, don't tell me you've been sleeping this entire day."

Draco groggily opened an eye and stared up into the amused face of Hermione Granger. He was still lying on her couch, clutching the black velvet pillow and pressing it up against his face as he slept. Realizing he'd missed work, he shot up in his seat and swore.

"It's alright," said Hermione curtly. "I talked to Cyrus for you. I'd come back here for lunch and noticed you were still sleeping, so I went in to Flourish and Blotts to tell him you weren't feeling well."

Draco let out a sigh of relief and leaned back again. "Granger, you are honestly the best person in the world."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, don't make me do it again," she said with just the slightest hint of impatience, snatching the black velvet pillow from his hands and propping it up nicely in its proper place. She sighed wearily. "I'm sorry I snapped; I'm just stressed. I can't believe you slept through the entire day. You do realize it's nearly dinnertime?"

"Plans?" he asked.

She was silent for a brief moment. "I was going to cook, as usual," she answered with indifference. "You're welcome to stay if you'd like. I was just going to make something simple."

Draco's thoughts lingered on what his father would say if he showed up late to Malfoy Manor yet again, but he quickly erased those thoughts; his father, Draco knew, would be displeased no matter what time he showed up. Draco knew that his father's real concern was the fact that Draco seemed to be uninterested in any women.

Well, he was interested in one.

Shit, his _father_. He was no doubt wondering where he was... Almost instantly, Draco pushed the thought from his mind.

"It must be nice living here all by yourself," he said casually.

Hermione frowned. "I can never tell when you're being serious."

"No, no, I'm completely serious," he insisted, smirking at her. "Really. You know how I like my solitude."

She leaned down and kissed him gently. "No." She smirked back. "I don't." She placed a hand on his forehead and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "You can't hide away alone forever, Draco."

"I'm not trying to," he told her. "I have you, obviously."

"Yes, you do," giggled Hermione. "But for how long?"

He closed his eyes and grinned. "You and me. Me and Granger, forever." Had he been watching her, he would have seen her face fall at the sound of his words. He waited for her brilliant, sparkling laughter, her kiss of approval, anything. But all he heard was silence. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw Hermione's eyes swimming with the thought of impossible promises.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"You're living in a fantasy world," she said flatly. "That's your problem."

"Dunno what you're talking about." His tone was defensive.

"Last night was wonderful." Pressing her forehead to his, she whispered, "But Draco, I'm not daft."

Draco reached for her hand and held it. "What are you talking about?"

She smiled sadly and wrestled her hand out of his grasp. Time seemed to stand still as Draco waited for her answer. Each second dragged on, longer and longer, and Hermione's smile faded with each passing instant.

"I think that you are an amazing person," she said evenly, "but you can't ignore our differences."

"What differences?" he murmured softly, because for a moment he truly had forgotten.

"I know about the protective spell, Draco."

Draco shook his head and gripped her hand again, bringing it to his lips and pressing soft kisses on her fingers. "No," he said, knowing she was referring to Gringotts. "No, that doesn't matter." For a moment, he truly believed it himself.

Hermione sighed. "I've known about it forever. And it does matter. You're a pureblooded wizard. That doesn't matter to me, and maybe it doesn't matter to you anymore, but it did once."

"But it doesn't now." He meant it. He didn't know what had changed really, but he meant it.

Hermione made a terrible, aching noise, as though she were being half-strangled. Her eyes were glistening. "Only because we're both damaged people, Draco. I know that."

"Granger, I'm pretty sure you just made that up."

"I've studied your customs in Muggle Studies when we were writing our comparative essays," she explained simply. "You have to marry a pureblood, and until you do so your account is inaccessible to you. There are few exceptions, like death of a family member, but in general, that's the only course you can follow. And you're running out of time."

"Doesn't have to be a pureblood," said Draco softly. "Check your research." All this talk about marriage was making him uncomfortable, though less uncomfortable than he thought. "I think it's because back then, centuries ago, there weren't as many Muggle-borns that we knew about, and no one really married Muggles so there weren't many half-bloods. So the thought of marrying anyone other than a pureblood was kind of ridiculous and impossible."

"Oh," said Hermione. "They haven't updated the spell?"

Draco shook his head. "It's powerful magic. I don't even think it's alterable."

"Maybe." Hermione looked doubtful. "But your father could still disown you for being with me."

"Who said I want to be with you?" asked Draco curiously, but he could barely hide his grin. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away.

"Well, _I _certainly don't want to be with _you_," she insisted playfully. "So I guess that solves that problem."

"You don't?"

"Draco, Draco," hushed Hermione, putting a finger to his lips. "Deep down beneath that precious sense of humor of yours and everything we have in common, you're still the nastiest prick I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"I thought you liked that about me," he said with a smirk.

"I do," she admitted. "But Draco, I hope you realize that you're deluded right now, and that's clouding your judgment. You're broken. And you think that I can take that brokenness away." She sighed. "But I can't."

"You have. Already."

She couldn't do anything more than just stare at him, contemplating. She looked a little confused as to how they had broached the subject in the first place.

"Do you think it's weird that we just had that conversation?" she mused, looking a little puzzled. "I mean, are we even together?"

"We're together now," said Draco, draping an arm around her waist.

"Yes, but you know what I meant."

"Well, in that sense, my answer is still yes."

She frowned thoughtfully. "You don't strike me as someone who likes to think about the future very much."

"You'd be correct in assuming so, yet here we are, talking about just that. Just goes to show how much I really like you, doesn't it Granger?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow upward, challenging him. It was at times like these that they didn't need words. It was strange, really, how they could understand each other so very perfectly. Every word Hermione had ever wanted to say seemed lodged in Draco's thoughts already, there from the beginning.

"Grang—Hermione...I promise you that I won't leave you. Because I don't want to."

She scoffed as usual, but Draco knew she believed him.

* * *

Things had been very rocky between Draco and his father lately. They barely spoke. Lucius spent enough time in the library as it was, so with Draco gone most evenings, they hardly ever saw each other. He wasn't bothered by this situation—in all honestly, he quite enjoyed it. Draco knew his father was going mad because he seemed to care less and less that Draco was barely home.

Draco stayed out of Lucius's way, so Lucius, naturally, returned the favor. That was why Draco was so surprised to hear his father knock on his bedroom door that day.

"Someone is here to see you," said Lucius, his head peeking in from behind the door. "A girl..."

Draco blanched. He knew Hermione wouldn't be so daft as to stride into his house unannounced...and his father didn't look visibly upset or angry. In fact, could it be Draco's imagination, or did his father look a bit pleased...?

He waited until his father had walked down the entire length of the hallway before he turned the corner and began walking towards the front of the house. Slowly, he stuck his head past the doorframe to gaze upon the figure standing in the parlor. His jaw nearly hit the floor.

_Pansy Parkinson._

He could see her profile, and from looking at her he could tell that she wasn't wearing any makeup. Her hair was knotted and tangled, though most of it was stuffed underneath the hood of her long, bottle-green cloak. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. She looked sad, but Draco took no pity.

"Bitsy, you may leave," said Draco to the tiny House-Elf who was currently on her tiptoes trying to dust an old painting on the wall. She looked up from her task with wide, amber eyes and nodded twice, then scurried out of the room with her feather duster tucked underneath her arm.

Pansy, who had looked up at the sound of Draco's voice, fidgeted. She fingered the buttons at the neck of her cloak awkwardly, gnawing on her bottom lip. She was putting on quite the show.

"The bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded gruffly.

Her bottom lip quivered. "Oh, _Draco..._I'm so, so sorry..."

"For what?" he snapped. "You shouldn't be in my house. I thought we'd agreed for you to leave me alone."

Pansy tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. "We did..."

"Then why are you here?" Draco asked impatiently. Pansy shook her head, her hair falling free from her hood and cascading down her shoulders, the knots and tangles jutting out. Draco paused at her reaction. Were those tears? "What?" he asked her. "Spit it out!"

"I never meant for this to happen, Draco..." She buried her face in her hands and began sobbing quietly, her shoulders heaving with each gasp. "Never in a thousand years..."

His voice was weaker now as he began to understand. "W-what...?" he asked hesitantly. He felt himself stagger backwards. No, it couldn't be...

"Draco." She looked up at him, her eyes wet, begging him to listen. "Please..."

_Don't say it, _he thought. He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, signaling for her to continue.

"Draco, I'm pregnant."


End file.
